Mishpokhe
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Jenny Shepard thought a 'Dear John' letter in Paris would put a clean cut end to their affair; however, neither she nor Leroy Jethro Gibbs could sever their ties in the wake of this unexpected, and unplanned, circumstances. AU. Incorporates Kate & Ziva.
1. Ehad

_A/N: Well, here it is. I have been persuaded to post even though it is not finished. It's occurred to me that it would be somewhat amusing if, after my talking about this one for a while, it flops. Well, perhaps that isn't amusing-but I would laugh in an ironic sort of way. This is my way of saying I hope you enjoy it._

_This is an AU fic. It, as you will see, involves a Jibblet. It involves a long distance relationship, and the cast of characters includes both Ziva and Kate, as well as Tali David, Ari Haswari, and Eli David. It's taken a lot of work to maneuver this; I've manipulated canon a bit. Tali's age is adjusted; she's currently 16 {and not dead} whereas in the show, she'd be about 14 here. _

_Any other adjustments to canon I've made will be made known as they come up._

* * *

><p><em><strong>One<strong>_

The human silence in the room was deafening. There was so much going on. The atmosphere was tense, the taboo on speaking broken only by the periodic electronic alerts and harsh buzzing of the high-tech equipment.

Two women were alone, locked in, one young and one younger, both focused stiffly on the work in front of them, senses alert, adrenaline heightened.

An alarm went off behind both of their heads, but neither flinched. It sounded its short, shrill cry right on time, and the brunette, younger woman shut it off with a remote, adjusting her headset.

"_Hit'kadem_," the brunette ordered sharply. The alarm had signified it was clear to move forward with the next operational step.

The other woman, taller, fairer, and a different nationality than the brunette, flicked her eyes from the screen where she watched a colleague's actions and to an ominous item sitting next to her own headset.

Her fingers moved effortlessly over the keys as she rigged codes and falsified bank statements. In a flash, she reached up to sweep strands of red hair away from her eyes. She forced her eyes back on her screen.

Her heart pounded. Seconds were passing by and she couldn't take this infinite uncertainty.

"Objective accomplished," the brunette said in accented English, pushing her headset back. She smirked, lifting an eyebrow. A beep went off and she adjusted her system. She looked over at the redhead. Her American counterpart.

"Jenny?" she prompted.

The spoken to's fingers flew over the keyboard. A quiet, repetitive beeping sounded and the redhead paused, guarded eyes locking on to a small timer on her cell phone. The brunette whistled sharply.

"Awaiting confirmation," her Hebrew accent was thicker, sharp, as she drew her partner's attention to the mission at hand.

The redhead locked in the required code to track any money removed from the hacked account for the next few weeks of this mission.

"Monetary tag successful," she said shortly, her voice low.

With a smile, the brunette haphazardly removed her headpiece. Their part was done. She shoved back a mass of her tangled curls and turned in her hard-backed chair to the other woman.

The redhead, upon wiping her computer of activity, stoically turned the alarm sounding from her phone off. The room went silent beyond silent.

Jennifer Shepard, newly assigned NCIS liaison to the Mossad, rested her eyes on the white stick that was causing her so much grief.

"Time to discuss the buffalo in the room, _ken_?" Ziva David asked smoothly.

Unable to help it, Shepard cracked a smile.

"Elephant," she murmured, in kind correction.

"Either would provoke conversation," Ziva noted, a little petulantly.

Shepard swept the white stick into her palm and looked at it, refusing to close her eyes or count to ten or do any of that nonsense. She'd already spent about a week playing games like that with Mother Nature.

"Verdict?" Ziva asked. She sounded like she was requesting a report on the latest mission.

Shepard tossed the stick in a trash can near to the desk and looked over at the younger woman for the first time since they'd settled down for this operation six hours ago.

"Yeah," she muttered. "I am pregnant."

The silence this time was loud. Deafening. Ziva David's face was solemn.

"The director must be informed, Jenny," Ziva informed her sharply.

"Your director, or mine?" the redhead asked drily.

"Which one do you fear more?" Ziva asked wryly.

Jenny looked away, retreating into her own world. A world that started in Paris. She swallowed hard and chewed on her lip.

"The father," she said dully, choosing an option that Ziva had not even thought to offer.

* * *

><p>A brief stint in the harshest, coldest terrain of Moscow and a whirlwind relationship had done nothing to erase the memory of Paris. He was starting to think nothing would. Not gallons of bourbon, not avoiding sleep and its dreams, not this probie kid he had gotten himself saddled with on his return from Siberia.<p>

It was just a stabbing pain situated right next to the pain of losing Shannon and Kelly.

He chose to mire himself in work-even at home, if he went home. Working on the boat, even, wasn't soothing. It just meant quiet, and the reminder that his house was _still_ empty.

The silver-haired agent sat at his desk, his hand on his chin, narrow eyes studying a propped up case in front of him, searching for what he'd missed.

"Maybe we missed something," the new kid stated hopefully. It was the most obvious statement on the planet, and Leroy Jethro Gibbs wasn't close enough to smack his brains out.

Anthony DiNozzo was an eager playboy cop from Baltimore, full of himself and determined to do something magnificent. Stan Burley, who had held down the fort while Gibbs was working first in Europe and then in Russia, had taken a post as agent afloat.

In the midst of a bloody, dark joint case with Baltimore PD, Gibbs had noticed something in the kid, and in a rare moment of sticking his neck out, offered the rambunctious yet intuitive and eager detective a place on his team. DiNozzo had potential, but he was having a hard time adjusting to the big league.

Gibbs just glared at him.

The young man quailed and shrunk down in his seat.

"Yeah, we obviously missed something, right…boss…" he muttered, turning back to the murder case. Third unsolved case they were dealing with. They had nothing.

He was tired. He hadn't gone to bed last night, and he hadn't gone home, either. He had spent the hours at Arlington, sitting in front of Shannon and Kelly's graves, his head in his hands. His phone had been off lately more than was characteristic. He wasn't handling this at all well.

His phone rang and he answered it with a growl. Maybe someone had a damn case they could solve.

"Agent Gibbs, you have a call on the switchboard, line six," a high female voice informed him in a business-like way.

"Does it have to do with Ensign Chaucer's murder?" he barked shortly.

"No—sir, it's a code from an unspecified overseas location, I'd advise you to—"

"I don't have time," he growled, annoyed that he'd even be bothered with _unspecified_ problems.

The woman seemed completely confused by his reaction.

"You won't take the call?" she asked.

"Take a message," he snapped sardonically, hanging up without a word.

"Problems, boss?" Agent DiNozzo asked nosily.

Gibbs swept his case file off of his desk and stormed off towards the elevator. He'd pressure Ducky to find him something. He'd go make that new girl in the lab find something.

He had to do _something_.

* * *

><p>She sat at her cluttered desk in her quarters at the Mossad "palace" in Tel-Aviv, her hair tangled, wrapped in only a bathrobe. Dark circles rimmed her eyes. She was cold. She felt sick, and she stared at her cell phone, watching the <em>call ended<em> flash on the screen.

_Agent Gibbs is not available presently. What message can we give him_?

She hadn't even known what to say. She had simply left her location; she knew calls out of this entire compound—any compounds associated with the Mossad—were highly encrypted.

She might have just had the worst six days of her life. She had never felt worse on any level; physical, emotional, psychological. She was stressed and angry. Director David was fuming, and he and Ziva were the only ones who knew—and Tali. Tali knew.

Her one call to Jethro's cell phone had been rebuffed. She had foolhardily called the number of his Paris burn phone. No result was yielded; she hadn't expected any. To fail at contact via NCIS switchboard scared her. It brooked cruel karma. Or maybe Jethro was dead.

Jenny closed her eyes and bowed her head, pressing her cell phone into her nose. She had missions to run. She had undercover ops to coordinate—to _participate_ in—a job to do. Parent wasn't one of them. She didn't even like kids. She left Jethro because he was getting in too deep, too close to her heart; it was so unfair of him to affect her so _completely_.

This was the second time she'd called the switchboard. The first time, the day after she'd found out, she'd been informed he was in Baltimore. God knows why. The powers that be were against her, evidently.

There was a soft knock at the door.

"_Bow_," she allowed, granting the person entrance.

The teenage girl who looked in greatly resembled Ziva David, but with a much softer face, and a much gentler look in her different, very blue eyes.

"Father wants to speak with you," she informed the redhead gently, her eyes brimming with compassion and sympathy. Of his three, Tali David was the only child who still called Eli 'Father' no matter what.

"I have not made a decision," Jenny said sharply, glaring at Tali. Tali did not merit her anger, but she had to direct it somewhere.

Tali David looked at her, and then moved closer, squinting as she looked into Jennifer Shepard's eyes. She smiled gently, and nodded, reaching out to touch the older woman's shoulder tenderly.

"I think you have, my friend," she said softly, knowingly. She was so wise for her young age; so intuitive and mature.

Jenny swallowed. She threw her phone down.

* * *

><p>There might not be another soul awake in DC at this late hour, but he was. There was definitely no one in their right mind still at work, but he was. He had a cold case file on his desk, but it wasn't opened.<p>

It was sealed, and it had a photo clipped to it, the face of a dead man whom only he knew was dead. He stared blankly at the file. They had finally closed the Chaucer case, and he was okay with admitting it was due to a rather ingenious discovery of that DiNozzo kid's. He would be a good agent.

But he wasn't _her_.

There had been changes at NCIS since his time in Paris, and even since his month and a half in Moscow. McAlister had sent him to Moscow, and new NCIS Director Morrow had brought him stateside. The lab tech wasn't worthless anymore; she was new; she was just…somethin' else.

And his partner was this Anthony DiNozzo.

He pushed his long-empty coffee cup into the trash, where it hit the one whose place it had taken with a _thunk,_ and he pushed around some papers on his desk. A green sticky note fluttered to the floor, its adhesive worn out.

He bent over and picked it up, narrowing his eyes. He didn't know what it was.

_Date: 28 February 2000. Call for Agent Gibbs taken 12:48 a.m. US Eastern Standard Time. Message: This call is out of Tel-Aviv, Israel; caller neglected to leave further information._

The note was written in frilly, obnoxious lettering. He vaguely remembered the call now. That had been over a week ago, and he'd been bogged down in cases. Then he'd drank himself through the anniversary of Shannon and Kelly's murders.

He furrowed his brow.

Israel?

What connections did he have in Israel?

Turning to his computer, he booted it up and slapped the sticky note violently against his desk, eyes narrowing as he pulled up the calls to the NCIS switchboard and searched for this one. It was highly encrypted, and didn't say its location.

He selected the audio file and turned his volume up somewhat to listen, straining to hear. The connection was bad, and both voices were female. One was distorted, hard to hear, and one was the cheerful NCIS operator. His gut wrenched anyway.

When it was a question of what female would possibly call him from Israel, there was only one plausible answer.

Immediately, he exited out of the switchboard files and opened the Active Agent status files. He found Jennifer Shepard, something he swore he would never do.

Status: _Active_

Location: _Middle East; Undisclosed_

Gibbs stared at the screen. He looked down at the note, and he took it in his hands. Why the hell was she calling him? What could she possible have to say that she hadn't already made loud and clear?

He stared at the identification picture that looked different from the way her knew her in person, and anger flared. How dare she. He wanted to face her. His motions on the keyboard were violent as he cancelled out of her file and pulled up the internet.

He booked the soonest flight to Israel; then he called in a favor to an overseas agent who could dig him up anything he needed.

He never should have let her get away with a damn _Dear John_ letter.

* * *

><p>Tel Aviv. The White City. It was loud and busy and cast in hot desert sun even in the early days of March. Making his way to the location he'd been directed to had been no small feat; the Mossad hid their "palace" well, and only one with inside help could have made it here.<p>

It was the haven of the agency, so to speak. A place where their most volatile, informed agents were sheltered and housed. Those in so deep they had to keep a tight knit group or those so rogue, so untrustworthy, that eyes were on them. And…and those with no other family, no one else to care where they lived.

The flight to Israel had been a long one and an inexplicable one. He had his old marine backpack over his shoulder, a coat over his arm, and that was it. His gut hadn't stopped bothering him since he'd discovered the sticky note. His director didn't know where he was.

He walked in the gates of the fortress, cautious. It was a fenced in courtyard. It looked innocent enough. He had taken another step when he heard the click of a gun. He stopped.

"Excellent decision," a woman's voice informed him crisply. "Another step and I would have shot you."

However facetiously she delivered her line, she did not remove the barrel of her gun from the back of his neck.

"I'm a friend to Israel," he said gruffly, placating.

"Israel appreciates it," she returned, stepping closer. He felt her hands starting to pat him down. "Who the hell are you?"

She grabbed one of his arms and pulled it behind his back, turning him slightly to look at him.

She had dark curly hair. Dark eyes, a round face, a widow's peak that all of her hair seemed to stem from. She was lithe and fit and her mouth was dangerous. Her gun rested against his shoulder threateningly.

He narrowed his eyes at the woman, studying her.

"I'm here for Agent Jennifer Shepard," he said pointedly, lowering his voice.

The woman's pupils contracted. She pursed her lips and her hold loosened somewhat. Deftly, she reached into his pocket and drew out his wallet and ID, her eyes flying over it, examining the authenticity of the NCIS badge.

She released him and stepped away.

"You are 'Jethro'?" She asked calculatingly, eyeing him critically. The way she stated his name made it sound like she was quoting someone; imitating someone. Her English was extremely articulate, yet thick with an Israeli accent.

"Gibbs," he added. "Her former partner," he bit the words out sharply.

She looked at him carefully, and the corner of her mouth twitched.

"You and I have a partner in common, _Gibbs_," she said shortly, imitating his introduction. She turned on her heel and jerked her head, indicating he should follow.

He did, keeping close to her. He didn't want any other Israelis jumping out of bushes and pointing guns at him.

She led him around to a less obvious entrance, still jumping through quite a few security hoops.

She stepped back and indicated he should enter first. He shrugged and did so, and she shut and locked the door behind them, effortlessly overtaking him in the hallway.

"That door is equipped with detonators," she explained. "Had you been wearing a bomb, the door would have fallen shut and the device on you would have detonated."

He raised his eyebrows. They weren't kidding when they said Israelis didn't mess around.

She led him towards stairs at the end of the hallway and turned to him as she rested her arm on the banister.

"I am Ziva David, Agent Gibbs. I am the only reason you learned of Shepard's location, and in that regard, I hope you prove yourself worthy of having the information," she informed him sharply, and somewhat warningly.

"She contacted _me_," he growled.

"You did not answer _her_," Ziva David responded pointedly, and started up the stairs. She didn't say another word to him, except to glance back at the coat over his arm as they reached a third floor and she led him down a corridor.

Several doors were open at the end of the hall, and there was much more light here. One of the half-closed doors swung open and a man came out, dark like Ziva, tall, with a starved, wolfish look about him.

"_Ari_," Ziva greeted warmly; familiarly. She spoke in rapid Hebrew, gesturing to the room he'd left. The man nodded curtly and scowled; his body language was frustrated, like something had not been accomplished.

The man continued past, and he looked at Gibbs coldly, like the NCIS agent was an intruder, a threat to him. Gibbs held his gaze, his eyes narrow. He disliked him. It ran deep. It was just there. He let it go, when Ziva cleared her throat and titled her head towards the open door, sweeping her arm out.

"She is available to see you," Ziva informed him.

He could see her. He could see her bent forward; all attention focused on an advanced laptop, as he approached silently, his jaw tightening. Her hair was swept back low over one shoulder, she was paler than usual. She wore a t-shirt, and jeans. She was tense. She was frustrated, too, that he could tell.

He stopped in the doorway, aware that Ziva David was watching stoically from the hall.

He just stared at her, the woman who had walked out of his life maybe four months ago, maybe three and a half, studying her profile, at a loss for words. Her coat, the one she'd left next to him on the plane, was heavy.

He didn't know what to say, so he said her name.

"Jen."

She looked up, startled from her focus, lips parted in anger, an anger he knew was caused from hearing the nickname. Her head whipped toward him. She saw him, and it was like everything stopped. The colour drained from her face.

"What are you doing here?" the words, shocked, tumbled out of her mouth, and they didn't even tremble; they were simply controlled and hard and forced through a dry, dry throat.

He met her green eyes, refusing to answer for a moment, before he lifted his arm, drawing her shaken gaze to the leather coat he had draped over it.

"Forgot your coat," he informed her gruffly.

* * *

><p><em>The chapters are numbered in Hebrew<em>

_-Thank you to both Mrs. Elizabeth Gibbs and GeekLoveFan, who both contributed Beta-ing talents to this project. An additional thanks to GeekLoveFan, who provided invaluable insight on motherhood psyche and child development. Also wikipedia and my mom. :D_

_-Alexandra_


	2. Shtayim

_****A/N: Prepare yourselves for insanely long chapters. _

* * *

><p><em><strong>Two<strong>_

There was silence. Silence, but for the low hum of the building's air conditioning system and the brief, muted echoes of movement elsewhere. She stared at him with her mouth open, as if she couldn't form words.

Then her eyes fell to the coat he held up and she closed her lips, swallowing—and then she stood up. She pressed her lips together tightly and flicked her sharp green eyes toward the open door. Out of the corner of his eye, Gibbs noticed Ziva turn and disappear without a word.

He was positive he'd never before experienced a Jenny Shepard this speechless.

She stepped forward and laid her hand on the coat, bunching up the material. She pinched the collar between her thumb and forefinger and then took it from him. She looked up at him and then cleared her throat softly.

"We need to talk," she said in a sotto voice, very seriously, with all the effort of keeping her voice calm and steady. She tilted her head discreetly towards the door he'd walked in, and gestured with her index finger.

"Follow me."

So he followed her. She walked back down the hallway through which Ziva had led him, and she stayed relatively close in front of him. Instead of leading him back down the staircase, she turned a corner and stopped to open a door right around it. She stopped so abruptly, he almost ran into her.

They entered the room, and he noticed the difference immediately. This was a living space.

It was clean and neat, spacious and luxurious, and it had more of a relaxed, comfortable touch to it. She shut the door behind him, and he stood in a sitting area, where windows looked over the courtyard he'd come in through, and a generous doorway led to what he assumed was a bedroom.

There were bookshelves, and spread out on the coffee table, evidence of late night work and research. Another laptop sat on the couch, and a desktop computer system was whirring in the corner. There was an open can of _Sprite_ next to the files. No empty coffee cups.

He was taking in the details of the room because, at the moment, it seemed easier than facing her.

She slowly walked around in front of him, standing close to her desk. He turned his eyes on her and watched as she gingerly laid the coat over an armchair and then rested her palm on it, her fingers still stroking the material.

She looked at him through her eyelashes.

"How was your flight?" she asked after another moment of that charged, volatile silence.

"Long," he answered inconclusively, in a tone that brooked no tolerance for small talk or inane questions. He narrowed his eyes, studying her. She looked good, but she still looked pale. Under the neat make-up she wore, he discerned dark shadows beneath her eyes. Her body was still tense. He sensed her agitation; he sensed distress. He sensed something was wrong with her.

"You called, Jen," He stated, cutting to the chase. He wanted to know what he was doing here, why Ziva David had recognized him like she had—and why the Mossad officer had been so quick to snap at him.

"Yeah, I called," she repeated. She nodded, and then shook her head a little. "Damn, Jethro, did you pick the wrong time to be unreachable," she remarked with a mirthless, brief laugh.

"Well, Agent Shepard, I didn't get the impression that's what you wanted," he said pointedly, shrugging his shoulders. "To _reach_ me," he clarified a little coldly.

The remark seemed to knock even the _false_ pretense of humor from her repertoire. He saw her bite the inside of her lip firmly, and she flexed her fingers on the coat. At the mention of her leaving, there was shame in her eyes. She lifted an eyebrow.

"How did you hunt me down?" she asked quietly.

"Investigative work," he patronized. "Called in a few favors. Agent in London put me in contact with Officer David."

Her lip turned up at the corner almost imperceptibly.

"It wasn't easy, Jen," he said in a bit of a growl.

She pushed some loose hair off of her forehead with her free hand and breathed in, giving a short nod to show she understood.

"You wouldn't answer the phone," she said. "I sure as hell didn't expect you to walk through that door."

"I'm here," he barked, though it wasn't overly forceful or loud. She flinched anyway. "Why'd you call?" he demanded.

She turned and rested her forehead in her palm for a minute, breathing in. She put a hand on her hip and straightened her back a little, glancing at him with fingers splayed over her temple and buried in her hair.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

"You _called_," he repeated roughly. He waited for another moment before starting forward, and stopping after a few steps, unsure of what he was doing. His blue eyes flashed angrily and he glared at her.

"What's the problem, Jenny?" he asked balefully. "You pissed I didn't come after you?" his question was sarcastic at the nicest. It was bitter. She held up her hand as if to stay his anger and he set his jaw, moving forward again.

She met his steely eyes and had to force the words out of his mouth, because she knew he was angry and she wasn't sure how prepared she had been for him to show anger. She was stressed and tired and a lot more than a little upset.

"You gonna say something?"

"I'm pregnant, Jethro," she said over him, interrupting and cutting him off, as he began to say her name.

She looked at him when she said it. She didn't bother averting her eyes or any timid nonsense. His anger didn't quite melt into shock or disbelief like she might have expected. He gave her a hard, solemn look before he tilted an ear towards her slightly.

"What?" he demanded shortly, his voice much quieter than it had been seconds ago.

"I am pregnant," she said again. The second time she said it, and saying it to him, at that, it seemed like she was accepting it herself. Her voice was flat, tired. She felt sick after the admission, and she sat down heavily on the edge of the armchair, one hand between her knees, one on the armrest.

Jethro still stood, stiff, staring at her.

He literally felt like stumbling back a few steps, the words struck him so hard. He had to hear it twice, because the first time he thought she spoke Chinese. He had spent months brooding over this woman, drinking over this woman. He didn't know how to handle this. He was still _angry_ at her. And now he felt…he had nothing to compare it to, though on some level, it might feel similar to how he'd feel if he'd knocked up one of his high school girlfriends.

He removed his hands from his pockets. He reached up and rubbed his temple tensely.

"You're pregnant," he hissed. He swore under his breath and shifted his weight. "How far, how—"

"Four months," she answered evenly. "Next week, four months."

He froze for a moment, staring at her.

"Were you going to tell me, Jenny?" he asked sharply, his eyes boring into hers. "Four _months_?"

She looked somewhat taken aback, her eyes widening a little.

"I am telling you," she replied tersely, straightening a little. "Jethro, I tried—"

"You didn't try very hard," he barked, cutting her off. "The NCIS _switchboard_? You didn't leave a name, Jen—you know all you had to do was leave your name and," he broke off, frustrated, and turned away, turning back violently in seconds. "Dammit, Jenny, that was a half-assed attempt at _trying_."

"I tried your cell, Jethro!" she snapped defensively, glaring at him. "No answer, _twice_. I tried your burn phone and you," she stopped, because without warning her voice caught in her throat and she hadn't even been prepared for it.

He had sounded desperate when he said all she had to do was leave her name.

She swallowed hard and touched her forehead, closing her eyes briefly.

"You're angry," she said quietly. "You're pissed, maybe I didn't try hard enough but," she paused, taking a deep breath. "I can't fight right now, Jethro, I can't. I'm a mess. You can break something or walk out," she bit her lip briefly. "But don't fight me. I can't handle it."

His jaw was set uncomfortably. Her resigned speech was unnervingly unlike the woman he'd known as his partner and lover, and it unsettled him. He glared at her, his adrenaline still surging, and he swallowed hard.

Gibbs turned around again and paced a few steps. Then he turned back around and sat in an armchair across from her, leaning forward on his knees and focusing, his eyes glued to her.

He took in her casual attire; her tight, faded jeans and her loose t-shirt, the messy tangle of her tied back hair and her bare feet poking out from frayed cuffs. The door was shut tightly, and it was just them in her foreign living quarters.

He threw his hands out in an open gesture, his eyebrows lifting somewhat.

"Talk," he ordered hoarsely, his voice less threatening. His eyes bore into hers and his expression was demanding, if a little softer. He was perturbed by her lack of spirit. She had said they needed to talk.

Well, she was damn right they needed to talk. So he let her talk.

* * *

><p>"When did you find out?" he had asked after she had seemed at a loss for where to start.<p>

She sat up and crossed her arms across her stomach, one of her feet rubbing anxiously over the other. She bent her head down for a moment.

"I knew," she said quietly. "I _think_ I knew," she amended, "in the back of my mind, for a while. I wasn't getting sick, but I missed my period in January. Chalked it up to stress," she lifted her shoulder in defeat. "Denial didn't really work; I took a test in February. Saw a doctor."

She swallowed and looked back up at him. Her words were very precise and collected, due to her strict attempts not to fall apart. Truth be told, all of the stress and anxiety and insecurity had caught up with her when she'd looked up and seen him.

"We were in the middle of an operation," she murmured. "I couldn't process it. Ziva knew, and after we closed the Op, I told the Director."

"Morrow?"

Jenny shook her head slowly.

"David, Director of Mossad," she corrected.

Gibbs' brow furrowed.

"The girl, Ziva—"

"He's her father," Jenny preemptively answered his question, nodding. She compressed her lips and stood up, walking over to the windows. She glanced into the courtyard. "He did not take it well."

Jethro looked up, following her with his eyes.

"You want coffee, Jethro?" she asked, looking over at him past her shoulder.

"No," he answered shortly, watching her like a hawk. "What do you want to do, Jen?" he asked. She noted how stressed he sounded suddenly, and she turned towards him, leaning against the window.

That was the million dollar question. It had been on her mind day in and day out for weeks. It was tearing her up inside. She wrapped one arm around her waist and threw a hand out, gesturing at nothing in particular.

"I don't know," she said faintly. "I am in the midst of an infiltration mission in the West Bank. My job is dangerous. I didn't plan for this, and I," she swallowed hesitantly, feeling like the worst person just to say it. "I don't want a baby."

Gibbs tensed up, but she wasn't aware of it. He stood up to level the playing field and moved closer, resting his hand on her desk. She watched him, standing her ground. He looked at the items spread over the desk—things in Hebrew and Arabic, things he couldn't read.

"We used birth control," he growled, hitting his palm against the desk of the wood. "We watched it."

"Don't," Jenny reprimanded a little sharply. "We weren't that careful, Jethro, don't say it. We just weren't. Those last few weeks in Paris—" she stopped. A ghost of a smile crossed her lips. She arched an eyebrow. "We didn't _watch_ _it_," she said in a suggestive undertone.

He arched an eyebrow, and grudgingly admitted to himself that she was right. Their work had been strenuous, the schedule had been chaotic and unpredictable, and whether or not she'd taken that insignificant little pill was the last thing on either of their minds when they were locked up in the latest hotel room with a rare free moment.

His gut was bothering. His nerves were on edge. He felt like this conversation was painstakingly slow and unproductive, but he had no idea how else to have it. She reached up and pushed her hair back shakily.

"Eli is furious," she murmured. "Director David," she clarified when she saw his look. "He shouted, threatened to pull me from every Op that's been set up in the next few years, and when he calmed down," she licked her lips and looked at him. "Jethro…he told me to fix my mistake. That he didn't care how. He gave me a week to tell him if I'd have an abortion."

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was a man who hadn't been physically sick since he could remember, and when he heard her say that, he thought he might vomit. The word wrenched his gut in a way he was unprepared for. It burned. He felt like he'd had the breath knocked out of him.

Not a flicker of it showed on his face.

When she didn't say anything for a long minute, he prompted her.

"Jenny, what," he broke off. "What did you tell him?" he asked blankly. When he had asked what she wanted to do, he hadn't even considered that she might present that as an option. He had been wondering if she wanted him to marry her or—something silly like that.

He was blindsided, angry, shocked, and shaken at the moment, but he knew for a fact, just from the way he had reacted on impulse, that whatever happened, he didn't want that. He did not want her to have an abortion.

"Nothing," she said hoarsely. "I cried, when I was alone. I told him I would give him a decision in ten days. I called you. It's been fifteen days." She ran her hand up and down her side and reached up to press her fingers against her mouth. "I panicked. I keep stalling him, ah."

"Why call?" Gibbs asked a little shortly. He pressed on. "You could have had an abortion and never told me."

"That wouldn't have solved anything!" she snapped, her eyes hurt at the words. He held her gaze. "I owed it to you, Jethro, you have a right to know," she said harshly. "You have a say," she added uncertainly.

"What do you want me to say, Jen?" he asked caustically, glaring at her. "Congratulations? You want me to forgive you, apologize? Or give you my blessing?" he asked bitterly.

She shook her head.

"I don't know the etiquette here either," she said tensely.

"You think I do?" he demanded. "This 'Eli' told you to have an abortion," he snapped.

"More or less," she muttered distastefully.

"Law says that's _your_ choice, Jen."

"I don't feel like I have a choice!" she snapped, unsettled. "I don't know what to do, Jethro! _I_ walked out on you. _I_ ended it. Do we just pick back up because I got pregnant? Am I supposed to just ask or… or _expect_ you to be a father?"

"Do you want an abortion?" he asked bluntly.

He suddenly understood her hesitancy, and her only talking about the abortion. She was scared that's what _he_ wanted. He didn't know what she was thinking, but he knew that was part of it. She wanted to know what he wanted to do.

She sucked in her breath.

"Pardon?" she asked, and it was such a proper thing to say it was almost laughable.

"Do you want an abortion?" he restated forcefully. He held her gaze intensely, staring into those bewitching, tumultuous green eyes. The very word had a bad taste.

It was a brittle silence, a heavy one, and she looked at him with her lips parted, and her eyes hesitant and vulnerable. He saw that hand shift imperceptibly over her middle and then back to her side, and after a few seconds, shook her head slowly, but determinedly.

"No," she whispered emphatically, the word falling from her lips desperately. She had said she didn't want this; yes. She didn't want a baby. She had never wanted children. That did not mean, by default, that she wanted an abortion.

She seemed to relax, if only a little.

He relaxed. He felt relieved, he felt some of the fight and the anger go out of him. It struck him hard, the realization that he was so repulsed by the possibility of an abortion. He had only ever considered it in the abstract, but when he thought of babies, he thought of Kelly, and he couldn't stand the thought of Jenny getting rid of a baby that he _knew_ was _his_.

Gibbs moved forward and he reached out, resting his palm against the side of Jenny's head. It wasn't quite on her cheek, but he held his hand there a moment and looked down at the arm she had protectively wrapped around herself. He leaned forward and gave her a quick, chaste kiss on the crown of her hair.

"Sit down," he muttered, tilting his head back towards the armchairs. She glanced up at him and then slipped away, taking her seat back up. She leaned back in the chair after a moment and then pulled her feet up.

Gibbs followed her, and sat down on the sofa, closer this time. She looked at him, and after a moment, he said in a very low voice:

"You don't _ask_ me to be a father. That's done," he pointed at her gently. "I am a father. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere now."

She stared at him. She looked stressed, unconvinced, and still a thousand different kinds of upset.

"It isn't that simple, Jethro."

"Yeah, Jen, it is. You made a decision; that baby is now our main priority. We start there."

She looked at him, and he glared firmly right back. This talk wasn't close to over, and she knew that by the end of it, the elephant with the _Dear John_ letter pinned to it would still be in the room. But he was right. Their unresolved issues didn't matter now; their irresponsibility and their 'mistake' did.

* * *

><p>He woke up early, and he felt jetlagged, groggy, and unsettled. He could loosely classify what he'd been doing as sleep; it was more like stretching out uncomfortably with his eyes closed while he slowly lost his mind in the dark living area of Jenny's suite.<p>

Unsure of how early in the morning it was, he got up, grimacing at the stiffness in his knees and back from sleeping on the couch. He had refused having a room made up for him. It had been a late night—or an early day, depending on the angle.

It had not taken long yesterday to discover they couldn't get anywhere with any talking until both directors had been informed and they had decided what was going to happen to Jenny's job.

Explaining to Tom Morrow over teleconference that he had pretty much demolished half the NCIS rulebook with his female, junior partner in Europe had not been Gibbs' shining moment.

He got up and quietly moved across the room, slipping into the bathroom that was right outside her master bedroom. He shut the door and turned on the light, coaxing cold water from the faucet to splash on his face.

The prospect of sleep had been impossible. The only thing on his mind was Kelly. It took him a while to figure out he was—scared wasn't the word…tense was acceptable. The degree to which he'd loved his daughter weighed him down to this day, and he didn't think he could go there again.

And he'd have to tell Jenny. It was unthinkable to have a child with her and not tell her he was already a father.

He rubbed the water over his eyes, and straightened somewhat. He heard what sounded like an urgent thud against the door and turned, only to hear it followed by soft, quick knocks. Reaching for a hand towel, he opened the door and Jenny ducked under his arm, sweeping her hair off of her shoulders deftly.

She lifted up the toilet seat and rested her hand on the counter, leaning on it lightly. She bent over, breathing shallowly for a minute; she closed her eyes as soon as she started to vomit, her knuckles turning white where she gripped the counter.

He turned away and reached for a cup, filling it with cold water instinctively. She coughed a few times before she straightened up and pressed the back of her hand to her lips. He reached over and rested a hand on her back, just beneath her shoulder blades. He offered her the cup.

She flushed, and took it with a dull smile.

"How bad?" he asked mildly. He nodded his head at the commode. She shrugged a little and rinsed her mouth, spitting in the sink.

"It _isn't_ bad," she said hoarsely. She pinched the bridge of her nose. "It flares up, a lot less frequently now."

He nodded, watching her take a real drink of the water this time.

"Have you had an ultrasound, Jen?" he asked.

"No," she answered after a moment, looking at the water in her cup. She opened her mouth, and then closed it again. "That would have made it too real," she murmured. She set the cup down. "And when I leaned towards the abortion, the thought of an ultrasound made me," she stopped talking and swallowed. "Sick," she finished softly.

Gibbs nodded shortly, not saying anything.

Jenny closed her eyes and took a deep breath, taking another drink of water. Her mouth turned down at the corners and she set the cup down again, her movements slow and controlled. She tapped her finger against the cup and, after a moment, looked up at him using the mirror.

"Jethro," she began hesitantly.

He grunted, lifting a brow. He had been thinking of other things.

She swallowed, feeling shaky suddenly. It had occurred to her whilst she was desperately trying to sleep last night that she hadn't asked what he thought they should do concerning her pregnancy. In the back of his mind, it bothered her that he might want—

"I didn't ask," she paused for the merest second. "I didn't ask if you wanted to have an abortion."

It wasn't even a question. It was just…something she said, because she was afraid he wasn't telling her something. She thought he was just keeping his mouth shut because he was angry.

"I don't," he said. He almost cut her off. Her eyebrows went up a little and he threw the towel he'd used away from him. He sighed, and he sounded frustrated. "I _don't_, Jen," he said more gently.

She stared at him, her eyes wide. He looked back, just standing there in this unfamiliar bathroom, stuck in this unfamiliar, unplanned situation.

He was irked that her demeanor was so timid. It was as if she expected him to attack her, and he was offended she would think that. There was a multitude of unresolved issues between them, but she knew him well enough to know he'd never hurt her.

He leaned forward on the sink and spread his hands out, bracing his palms on the clean, white surface.

He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a soft knocking, and a thump. Jenny turned towards the open bathroom door, and he looked up, his eyes narrowing critically as he caught sight of the intruder in the mirror.

At first he thought it was Ziva, but her eyes were too strikingly blue. She was young, perhaps twenty at the oldest, and she had a gentler look than many of the people he'd met in Israel. She tapped two fingers politely against Jenny's door.

"Forgive me," she said graciously. "Jenny, you were not answering your intercom."

Her English was proper and spoken with the inevitable Hebrew accent, and a touch of French inflection. Gibbs straightened and turned around, eyeing her reservedly. She seemed rather unfazed, and straightened her shoulders.

"You are Agent Gibbs, I think," the female stated. She stretched out her hand gracefully. "Officer Tali David."

Gibbs took her hand and shook it, noting her firm, confident handshake. He was impressed by it, but he arched an eyebrow.

"You're Mossad?" he asked, gruff and skeptical. She was clearly too young.

Tali David gave him a small smile and retracted her hand in the proper amount of time due to a handshake.

"Linguistics," she elaborated vaguely, and inclined her head to him respectfully. "And the messenger," she added with a wry smirk. She turned to Jenny, her blue eyes very large, and very unthreatening—very unlike many Israeli's he'd seen as of yet.

"Father wants you," she said resolutely.

"Can it wait?" Jenny asked tersely.

"No," Tali David answered simply. She smiled.

Jenny's mouth tightened. She looked at Jethro. She swallowed, and straightened her shoulders.

"Tell Eli I will see him directly," she said. "He _can_ wait a moment while I get dressed."

Tali inclined her head as if to mildly agree. She stepped out of the doorway to allow Jenny past her, and gave Gibbs a curious smile, and raised her eyebrow.

"We hear quite a lot about you, Agent Gibbs, when Jenny is sleepy and delirious."

* * *

><p>An armed guard in full IDF regalia gave a curt nod of greeting to the redheaded American as she stalked passed him on her way into the imposing office he policed.<p>

His head turned sharply, as she did not knock, she opened the door confidently.

She walked in on tensely raised Hebrew voices, and when she shut the office door with a cold click, the argument she interrupted abruptly stopped, and Director Eli David leaned back in his chair, lifting his hand to rub his chin.

A tall, lean man with an animal look straightened from the position he'd held bent over David's desk and threw the female intruder a look over his shoulder. His eyes had a hungry, lion-ish look and his teeth were set in frustration.

Jenny leaned against the wall behind her, crossing her arms delicately over her chest. She arched an eyebrow, her lips a firm line.

"You have yet to learn proper etiquette, I see," the younger man growled, giving her a distasteful look.

She shrugged.

"Cultural misunderstanding," she quipped lightly.

He scowled at her.

"You interrupt. You Americans and your sense of _entitlement_," he spat.

"I was summoned, Haswari," she responded coolly, indicating her head to the Director. "I hardly felt it polite to keep your father waiting."

The man known as Ari Haswari bared his teeth like a cornered hyena and turned stiffly to Eli David, swearing under his breath in a mixture of Arabic and Hebrew.

"We are not finished."

"We never are, Ari," his elder answered mildly, waving his hand gently in a sign of affection.

Haswari turned violently and stormed out of the office, making sure he roughed Jenny up a little with his shoulder as he passed.

"Such a gentleman," Jenny remarked contemptuously, as the door slammed loudly shut.

"Your brazen impertinence never ceases to amaze me, my friend," Eli David commented with a smirk. He spread his hand out welcomingly over his desk and nodded to her. "Sit."

Jenny stood for a moment before slowly taking a seat, leaning back in the proffered chair opposite the Mossad Director's desk with caution. In accordance with David's preference that the women in Mossad downplay their looks, her hair was swept back in a neat, tight ponytail and she wore little make-up. No earrings, no other jewelry.

Work at Mossad had an effect on her wardrobe; she'd soon learned her pencil skirts and oxford shirts were not suited, and her attire lately resembled Ziva's look more than her own personal style. She wore loose cargo pants, dark black combat boots, and a dark green scoop-neck blouse that hung lazily off one shoulder.

Jenny looked at him over his desk, tapping a finger against her bottom lip. She waited for him to speak. The conversation he had with her director Morrow had no doubt ended in a decision, or resolution, and she was interested to hear what was going to be 'done' with her.

It was taking a toll on her to hold up this façade. She still felt nauseous.

Her mind kept going back to Jethro—whom she'd left alone in her quarters with Tali.

"Your indiscretions have put us in quite the situation, have they not?" Eli David asked after a moment, in precise, accented English.

Jenny gave him a patronizing smile.

"Don't speak to me like I am your child, Eli," she responded shortly, her fingers resting on her cheek. "I am a responsible adult."

The word 'responsible' may have left her lips with a bit of sarcasm, but she would allow him to interpret that. He snorted softly and looked at her down the bridge of his nose. He swept his glasses off of his face.

"That is up for debate," he said mildly.

He leaned forward.

"If I may—to borrow and American phrase—'cut to the chase'," he began abruptly. Jenny inclined her head. "I have spoken at length with your Director. He feels it is both unwise and impossible to abrogate your position here in light of the considerable maneuvering involved in orchestrating your cover and the integral connection you provide between our agencies," there was the briefest pause in the Director's monologue. "As do I."

He folded his hands in front of him, looking at Jenny. He waited, letting the words settle in the air. Jenny pulled her fingers away from her lips and cheek, parting her lips slightly.

"I thought Tom might be reluctant to sacrifice the upcoming opportunities to my," she gave the Director a somewhat dangerous look. "_Indiscretion_."

She was unafraid of Eli David, and perfectly able to hold her own with him. It was vital to her that he know nothing of the stress and chaos that consumed her mind and body at the present time; he need only see the composure, ambition, and prowess she had always projected.

Director David nodded.

"You have decided against an abortion," he stated, looking at her sharply.

She nodded pointedly.

"Is this your decision or due to the pressures of your old partner?" David asked a little skeptically.

"I had decided before my partner was involved," Jenny answered sharply. She tempered her tone a little. "I will not agree to an abortion."

He looked at her for a moment and then slipped his glasses back on and lifted a file, examining it in a matter-of-fact way.

"Then we will proceed according to the best possible course of action," he said with a curt nod. "You will be pulled from your current Op within the next three weeks. To say the least it is inappropriate for a woman in your state to front as a bar girl, to say the most, impossible—is that much understood?"

"_Ken_," Jenny agreed slowly, respectfully answering in his native Hebrew.

Her current cover was that of an Irish arms broker working in a hole-in-the-wall Tel-Aviv pub suspected to be home to a Hezbollah terrorist cell.

"Ziva is already working on orchestrating the adjustments so there is nothing questionable about your disappearance from the tavern. You will now be handling surveillance of Nasr Masharaff, as well as directing misinformation to the various suspected members of his cell," David placed a slim file on the edge of the desk and then placed a somewhat thicker file on top of it. "In addition, you are in charge of coordinating with our operative in the IRA. He will keep you informed of what you need to know to hold your cover."

"Liam, if I remember correctly?" Jenny asked, taking the files. She opened the thickest, and stared into the hollow eyes of Nasr Masharaff, the terrorist currently grieving Israel the most.

"I understand you met him when training in London?"

"Briefly," she answered. "I spoke with him over the phone to test the authenticity of my accent."

She had spent six weeks in London with an NCIS dialect specialist learning the nuances of the Irish-catholic accent. It seemed like a waste of time now, as she would hardly be using it.

David nodded, scratching his chin.

"Several readjustments have been made concerning your place in the forthcoming Operations. All have been successful, bar one. I was not able to find a replacement or re-work the details of the _Mazel _mission—"

"That isn't until early September," Jenny broke in incredulously.

"And if my research serves me correctly, you are due in early August," responded David.

"Damn good research."

"I do not feel it too selfish of me to give you no choice concerning whether or not to take your place on the mission—you will be going," he said finally. "It is important the targets see the face of the woman who had a hand in the death of Zukov and the downfall of this arms empire."

Jenny stayed silent for a moment, flicking carelessly through the papers in front of her. They looked worn; old-fashioned. The most top-secret Mossad files always did, as they were printed on vellum.

"Eli, I'll have a newborn," she remarked quietly. It felt weird to say it out loud. She had been so bogged down thinking 'in the moment' lately, it had never occurred to her to look into the future. She was going to have a baby to take care of.

"We make sacrifices for the safety of our children," rumbled David.

She wasn't sure she saw it that way, yet she couldn't find the words to correct him. He, who had three children contracted in Mossad and saw them thrust into the path of danger every day. She closed the files she held and held them in her lap.

"I'll go on the mission," she agreed calmly.

"Yes, you will," he said with finality. He leaned back in his chair, scrutinizing her. "Jenny, I advise you to consider greatly the magnitude of the decision you have made. Raising a child in Israel is precarious at best; raising one within the walls of Mossad, well…" he trailed off, smiling tightly.

"Speaking from experience?" she asked mildly.

"Partially," he said tersely. "Rivka raised the girls until her death. Far away from here. Ari is a different story."

Jenny assumed Rivka was the name of Ziva and Tali's mother. She remained silent and set her shoulders back, uncrossing her leg swiftly. She stood, assuming the conversation was over. Now that her standing at Mossad was established and outlined, she had a starting point from which she and Jethro could make decisions.

"I can take care of myself, Eli," she said with a smirk. "And anyone else who comes along."

"Ah, if that isn't what we all say," he remarked with a grim smile. She tucked the files under her arm and turned to leave.

"Agent Shepard," he called placidly. She paused, her back to him. "I would like to have a talk with your Agent Gibbs, should it be convenient."

That, of course, meaning Eli would find a way to talk to Jethro if it meant cornering him in a dark alley somewhere in Bethlehem.

Jenny glanced over her shoulder, scrutinizing him. He did not look up. A pen in hand, he made marks in a book in front of him. She turned and left the room, shutting the door silently. She gave the armed guard another cordial nod in passing.

She waited until she was safely ensconced in the elevator to let her composure waver ever so little. She leaned against the wall, her shoulders slumping, and closed her eyes, swallowing hard.

_Eli, I'll have a newborn…_

* * *

><p>Ziva David was watching Jenny's ex-partner with a searching, calculating look, but the silver-haired man looked unfazed by such scrutiny. She sipped a cup of tea, careful of burning her tongue. She had chased her little sister away from Agent Gibbs with admonishment about teasing him, and she sat in one of the kitchens, listening to the NCIS operative speak with his director.<p>

Gibbs was aware of the woman's watching, but he ignored it. He moved his hand from the mug he was gripping to his forehead, his brow wrinkling.

"A little hotheaded, Gibbs, flying off to Tel-Aviv in the middle of the night," Director Morrow was saying. Gibbs could see the guy shaking his head in small amusement.

"Sir," was all Gibbs said.

"Look, Jethro," Morrow returned to seriousness. "I won't sit here and pretend I'm happy about this. We're short-staffed in DC and now I've got a whole slew of personnel issues to deal with concerning you and Shepard," the Director paused. He sounded tired. "Have you two worked out the kinks yet?"

Gibbs remained silent for a moment and then leaned back, resting his hand back against his mug.

"Working on it," he answered gruffly.

"I need you back in DC," Morrow said. "I'll give you five more days, for now. I'm sorry, Jethro, but I can't have this DiNozzo kid in charge of your cases, he's too green—"

"Yeah," Gibbs agreed heavily. He gripped his cell phone. He knew DiNozzo had no business in charge of the high profile cases that came across his desk.

"Get David to put you through to me satellite when you and Shepard have had a chance to set some things in stone—and Gibbs, I want to talk to both of you, this time," Morrow warned.

Jethro grit his teeth.

"Might be a few days," he warned.

"Well, take your time in the time you've got," Morrow said. "Exercise some foresight this time, Gibbs," he reprimanded.

"Yes sir," Gibbs said.

"I've gotta deal with a communications issue in Bahrain," Morrow switched gears, his tone wrapping up the short conversation. "You're back stateside Tuesday."

Gibbs nodded curtly and hung up, at roughly the same time his director did. He pressed his closed cell phone to his forehead and then placed it on the table, staring at it balefully. He had never felt so chided in his life, and he'd been _married_ three times. What a nightmare. What a _mess_.

Ziva tilted her head at him, her tea held snugly in two hands. Her dark eyes peered at him over the rim of her cup and she was utterly silent. The woman didn't say much. She was feline and graceful—dangerous.

Her mannerisms didn't bother him. He wasn't a talker either; he was content to sit and wallow in silence. He had too much on his mind, anyway. He went from being pissed at Jenny for walking out on him like she had, to feeling guilty—all over the spectrum. He felt he had to push aside the anger, considering circumstances.

"The coffee is not poisoned," Ziva said blandly, sipping her tea again.

Gibbs looked at it. It was untouched, and rarely was his coffee untouched. Good as it smelled, and tired as he was, he'd give anything for a mason jar full of bourbon right now. He fingered the mug's handle and lifted it to his lips, taking a swallow.

She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.

"You are thinking of your daughter?" Ziva asked. It was so straightforward, that he didn't even comprehend her question. For a moment, he thought she was making some reference to Jenny.

And then he realized, she meant _Kelly_.

He lowered his mug slowly, his eyes hard.

"What did you say?" he asked hoarsely, forcing the words out. It was eerie, the way she'd seemed to read his mind. Of course he was thinking about Kelly. She had been in his mind since Jenny had stood in front of him and told him she was pregnant.

"I apologize—"

"Don't."

"What?"

"Don't," he repeated. "Apologize," he paused and glared at her. "How do you know about Kelly?" he growled in an undertone. He was tempted to look over his shoulder.

She hesitated.

"I profiled you, once I forced Jenny to reveal your name. You, and those you worked with. For security reasons, and," she broke off momentarily and inclined her head. "And as a friend."

"She know?" Gibbs demanded abruptly.

Slowly, Ziva shook her head.

"I told her nothing, Agent Gibbs. I thought it best—"

He never did find out what she thought best, though. Tali David danced into the room, cutting her sister off. She had a headset placed delicately on her head, and into the mouthpiece she spoke in flawless French.

Ziva fell silent, drinking that tea again. Gibbs felt blindsided and drained; his muscles ached, and he wanted the comfort of his silent basement and then woodwork of the boat under his hands.

Tali retrieved a glass from the cabinet, chattering away in French, and filled it with ginger ale from the refrigerator. She took a sleeve of crackers from the cabinet and placed them on a plate, sliding them onto the table.

"_Ken—oi, vey—mais oui!_" the younger woman laughed and reached up, her fingers resting on a button on her headset. It seemed she had slipped between French and her native tongue, if briefly. "_Maintenent? Au revoir._"

The button clicked, and a light on her headset went off. She shot Gibbs a pleasant smile and winked at him, and he was reminded of her refusal earlier to tell him just _what_ Jenny liked to tell about him when she was delirious.

"Zee, there's been a bombing in the south quarter," Tali said, uncapping a bottle of water and pulling the headset down around her neck. "There's graffiti marking the rubble; Rivkin needs you to decipher it."

Ziva asked something in Hebrew.

Tali shook her head, and answered solemnly.

"It's in Pashto, and you're the Pashtun scholar."

Ziva left her cup on the table and left the room. Her eyes met Gibbs' as she brushed passed and she was gone, as if she had never been there. Gibbs studied Tali. She gave him somewhat of a sad smile and turned to exit the room.

She paused and backtracked, leaning on the table with one hand. She put the other on her hip and titled her head at Gibbs. She looked like a child, a teenager. She was so different from these other hardened, disillusioned people.

"I could take pity on you," she remarked in that lilting, Hebrew-French accented English. He lifted an eyebrow. "It bothers you, what she says when she is sleepy?"

He didn't answer, tapping his coffee mug. He looked at the ginger ale and crackers Tali had set out, apparently not to eat. He wondered if someone _else_ was going to walk in. Tali grinned, and he was hard-pressed to believe that a bomb had gone off somewhere. Was it so commonplace in this desert land that she was this unfazed by it?

"Should it?" he asked curtly, giving in. He felt compelled to, Tali was so eager to be friendly.

She bit her lip and shook her head. Her eyes lit up.

"I am but teasing you, Agent Gibbs," she said gently. "She hasn't told us any secrets, only that you were her boss. She does not sleep well, mind you. But forgive my little joke. I find that lacing humor into life keeps me sane."

She tapped her temple pointedly and left the room, leaving him alone. He furrowed his brow, and glanced after her, shaking his head.

He sat staring at his cooling coffee, thinking about Kelly again. His thoughts crept precariously towards waters that wondered if he could love _anyone_ like he'd loved her—and were stopped in their perilous tracks by footsteps behind him.

"They left you unattended," remarked a familiar voice. He turned half-way in his chair and looked at Jenny as she walked in, dressed in roughly the same style as Ziva. It was uncharacteristic; different from what he was used to. No high heels.

"Colour me shocked," she murmured sarcastically.

"I need to be babysat?" Jethro drawled.

Jenny snorted.

"Outsiders are never left unattended," she said, approaching the table. She titled her head at the food and drink laid out, her hand coming to rest on the back of an empty chair.

"Saltines," she noted, pulling out the chair. She sat down and reached for the glass of ginger ale, looking relieved. Her skin was pale, and he could tell she still hadn't slept from the dark circles under her eyes.

"Tali put them out," he grunted.

Jenny sighed softly, taking a drink of the fizzy drink. She licked her lips.

"That girl is way too excited about this," she murmured, almost to herself.

"She's excited about everything," Gibbs muttered under his breath. Jenny nibbled on a saltine. She smiled a little.

"Tali is sixteen," the redhead commented, as if it explained everything.

Gibbs stared at her. Sixteen? A Mossad officer, at _sixteen_? He was almost horrified. Jenny noticed the look on his face and gave a small shrug, nodding her head once to confirm it. It was like the same thought passed between them—what kind of life is that?

"Mossad doesn't waste time," growled Gibbs edgily. He had the creeping feeling that he had seen so many relatively young people around because the older ones were all dead. Jenny arched a brow and said nothing.

"It's a different world here," Jenny said, picking up her glass.

She drank, and he watched her throat move, running his hand around the rim of his coffee mug.

"That coffee?" she asked, nodding at it.

He nodded affirmatively. She gave it a baleful look, and he pushed the mug towards her. She shook her head.

"I can't."

He shrugged.

"Couple drinks won't hurt you," he said nonchalantly. She placed her fingers like a dome over the mug and lifted it carefully. She closed her eyes when she smelled it and then shrugged half-heartedly.

"I live on the edge," she said wryly.

Gibbs laughed softly, leaning over to take the mug back when she was through. She leaned back in her chair, resting her arm over the back and crossing her legs. She held her ginger ale in the other hand.

"Can we end the small talk?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said tiredly, sitting forward. "Morrow gave me until Tuesday."

"Tuesday," she said. She wasn't sure if she was disappointed or relieved; if that was plenty of time, or much too little.

"Left a probie in charge," Gibbs clarified a little sheepishly. She smirked, and looked him over, her brow crinkling suddenly.

"Jethro, don't you have a change of clothes?" she asked, noticing his clothing was winkled and rumpled from sleeping on the couch. It was the same thing he'd had on since he got on the flight.

Gibbs looked down at his attire.

"No," he said slowly.

"It didn't occur to you to pack any?"

"No, Jenny," he said again, somewhat tersely. "I figured out it was you who called and I just…got on a plane."

She sobered up.

"Ah," she said softly, looking down at her glass. She looked up at him and took a deep breath, nodding her head. She was shaken to hear that, after all that had happened and the way she'd left, his first reaction to hearing from her was to drop everything.

"I am being pulled from my current operation, but my position here is not being terminated," she began simply. "I lead a strike force out of NCIS Cairo in addition to my work here and it would be," she fished around for the right word, "difficult to re-assign me."

She looked at him for a moment and then cleared her throat sheepishly.

"And to be completely honest, I have no interest in giving up this position."

He eyed her critically.

"You've done well for yourself," he remarked. It was a little bitter. He must have some idea that most of the reason behind her leaving had been personal ambition. She smiled faintly and didn't answer.

"You're staying in Israel," he said slowly.

She nodded.

He pointed to his chest.

"I'm staying stateside," he added. She rubbed the side of her head gently, giving him another nod. He set his jaw and leaned back, letting his hand fall heavily to the table with a thump. She winced at the noise. "How is this going to work?" he demanded crossly.

Jenny opened her mouth, and closed it abruptly.

"I don't know," she said.

"You don't _know_?" he repeated sharply.

"No, Jethro, I don't," she fired back tersely. "I hardly expected you to be that involved."

"Dammit, Jenny," he swore, his eyes narrowing at her words. "What _did_ you expect? You think I'd just turn my back on you?"

"I didn't _expect_ anything from you!" she hissed pointedly. "I had all but given up on contacting you, and after what happened in Paris—" she stopped. "Let's say I wouldn't be too _confused_ if you told me it wasn't your problem."

"Well, it is my _problem_," he sneered, clenching his fist. "You gave up a little _quick_, don't you think? Because that was easier than telling me?"

She pushed her glass away and threw her hand out.

"Yes! It was easier than telling you!" she cried, conceding. "I didn't even say _goodbye_, Jethro, and then I had to call you up and throw a pregnancy in your face!"

He grit his teeth and stared at her. As much as he blamed her for the end of the affair, and as much as he had imagined seeing her hurt and heartbroken in the past months, he didn't at all like this martyr attitude she seemed to have.

"I don't appreciate you thinking I'd abandon you because of that _stupid_ letter," he growled angrily. He cut her off when she opened her mouth to speak. He could see the shame in her eyes, and he relished it. "_You_ made a choice in Paris and I have to live with it but that doesn't change the fact that I have a responsibility to you now."

She seemed taken aback. She stayed silent, her eyes slightly wide. She pushed her hand back over her pulled back hair and tangled her fingers into her ponytail.

"It was so hard to make that call," she said haggardly. "I didn't want to reopen old wounds."

"You made the call," he said firmly. He held his hands out a little sardonically. "Here I am."

She smiled dully.

Yes, here he was. He was always there. It had been so humbling for her to pick up the phone with telling him she was pregnant in mind after the way she'd left and the selfish, misguided reasoning she knew was behind it.

"This is more respect than I deserve," she said hoarsely.

"Ah, jeez, Jenny," he groused under his breath. "I don't want to hear it." He really didn't. He had no interest in hearing her guilt or anything else she had to say at the moment about the affair. They had other issues to deal with, and that one was a considerable sore spot.

"It needs to be heard, Jethro," she said shortly.

"Fine," he growled, leaning back roughly in his chair. He gestured to her wildly and then folded his arms across his chest. "You want to talk about Paris? Then talk," he ordered cruelly. "Why'd you leave, Jenny?"

She sucked in her breath quickly. She drew a leg up in her chair and rested her hand on it, biting on a nail tentatively. She looked smaller, like an animal cornered by a predator. He had little sympathy for her right now, regardless. He narrowed his eyes at her, scrutinizing her.

"That's what I thought," he said softly.

She took her fingertip from her mouth and raised her hand helplessly.

"I can't explain it," came out of her mouth.

"Then drop it," he said coldly. "We talk about it now, or we leave it alone."

She snorted derisively, raising her eyes to the ceiling.

"Leave it alone," she mocked. "Why am I not surprised that you'd suggest ignoring the matter entirely?"

"Look who's talking," he returned pointedly.

She swallowed. He was right. Ignoring the matter was exactly what she'd done when she walked out four months ago.

"Forget it, Jen," he said tensely.

She brushed her finger across her bottom lip and squeezed her knee to comfort herself.

"_You_ haven't forgotten it," she noted quietly. "You still hate me for it. I can see it in your eyes."

"I'll get over it," he said lightly. Bitterly. "How is this going to work?" he asked again, a little calmer this time.

"Right," she sighed, leaning over and taking a saltine off the plate Tali had laid out. She bit off the corner and chewed thoughtfully, as if she were choosing her words carefully. "I suppose you'll be dipping into the ungodly amount of vacation time you have," she said with a humorless smirk.

She lowered her foot and leaned towards him, both hands on the table in a gesture of peace. He picked up his mug and took a drink of dismally cold coffee. This conversation had barely started, and he didn't see it getting any easier.

* * *

><p>"You are having a baby, <em>Senora<em>?" Noemi Cruz asked again, and Jenny grit her teeth, for some reason unable to deal with the excitement she could hear brewing in her faithful housekeeper's voice. It seemed that she and Jethro were the only people less than thrilled about his whole ordeal.

"Yes, Noemi," she answered patronizingly.

"When will you be home?" was Noemi's natural next question.

Jenny sighed. She walked away from the work she had pulled up on her laptop, glancing at a clock that told the late hour. She had stayed up to call Noemi as soon as possible, waiting for the hour—US time—that she knew Noemi would enter her townhouse to clean.

"It's complicated," she said. "I will not be coming home. I'm still stationed in the Middle East."

"You cannot, _Senora_! Your job is so dangerous for a baby," the Latina woman gasped.

"That is my business, Noemi," Jenny returned sharply, staring at her computer screen from across the room. She was so tired, the words and numbers there ran together. "Anyway, I wanted to give you a few details, so you aren't caught off guard," she murmured.

"Yes ma'am?"

Jenny mulled over a few of the things she and Jethro had discussed in her mind.

"You remember Agent Gibbs?" Jenny asked.

"_Senor_ Gibbs?" repeated Noemi uncertainly. "Silver hair?" she asked.

"My old boss," Jenny prompted. "He was drunk the night you met him," she added dryly.

"Ah, _Senor_ _Gibbs_," Noemi said nicely. Jenny nodded to herself and plowed on.

"He has a key to the townhouse now, so don't panic if you find him there sometimes. I'll be sending him things there, and he may need to send some of my things to me. In order to keep this as quiet as possible, it's best if he doesn't receive a stream of international mail to his home."

"_Senora_, why Agent Gibbs?"

Jenny pulled the phone away from her ear and started at it numbly. Her housekeeper generally had a better head on her shoulders than that. Then again, maybe Noemi simply didn't want to assume things.

"It's his baby," Jenny said.

"Yes, ma'am."

Jenny rolled her eyes.

"I don't have a specific date when I'll be home, Noemi, but if you wouldn't mind making sure the house is…safe," she furrowed her brow as she said the word.

"Baby proof," prompted Noemi. Jenny could hear her smiling. She rubbed her own forehead, exhaustion lining her face.

"Baby proof. Sure," she acquiesced. "I feel like I should tell you to put Daddy's Glock in the lockbox, and put it in the safe."

"I will, _Senora_," Noemi said faithfully. "Anything else you will be needing?"

"I can't think straight right now," Jenny answered, shrugging. Her laptop screen went dim and she walked back over and tapped a key, lighting it back up. She blinked rapidly, trying to stay awake. "Noemi, its late here."

"_Senora_, make sure you sleep," Noemi said sternly.

Jenny smiled softly.

"Goodnight, Noemi. I'll call," she said. It was the first time she had called her loyal housekeeper since the phone call she'd made from London that worked out the details of getting many of her things shipped to Israel.

She snapped her phone shut and slipped it down her shirt, tucking it inside her bra and next to her breast. She winced involuntarily, and rolled her neck to the side, yawning. She wanted a shower, but it was so late.

Even Ziva was nowhere to be found; the bombing in the south quarter had consumed her time today, as it was baffling and uncommon for a terrorist attack to manifest itself with Pashto roots. It had blindsided Mossad, and now Ziva was digging in to the possibility of yet another radical group that was targeting Israel.

Eighteen people had been killed in the bombing, six of them children. She let out a deep breath. She was hardened to news like that. Almost eight weeks she'd been in Israel, and she was already hardened to news like that.

Jenny was unsure where Jethro was. She was aware that Tali seemed to have been 'put in charge' of him; she had taken care of getting him a couple changes of clothes. He was probably prowling around her quarters. She hoped he was asleep.

She sat down in front of her laptop, leaning forward. She licked her lips and set to work again, analyzing the codes in front of her. She really should go to bed, but tired as she was, it was so hard to sleep.

After another half hour or tedious work, she shut down her files, locked everything, and roamed out of the office she worked in, down the hall to her quarters. She turned the corner and almost ran headlong into a darkly clad figure.

Her breath caught in her throat.

"Haswari," she hissed tensely. She swore under her breath in his language.

"Americans scare so easily," he said mildly, stepping out of the shadows. He smiled lazily at her.

"Do excuse me if I find it hard to adjust to your penchant for lurking," she snapped quietly. "Your rooms are in the next wing; what are you doing outside mine?" she demanded dangerously.

"Watching," Ari Haswari gestured with a flick of his wrist at her closed door. "Tali is monitoring the garden security systems. And your friend," Haswari lips curled back at the word. "He wanders. It makes the Mossad nervous."

Jenny looked at her closed door.

"He's a marine," she said in an undertone. "And an Agent; he notes his surroundings," she defended. She doubted Jethro was sneaking around the palace ferreting out state secrets. It was, however, highly likely that he had checked her quarters and the floor for anything dangerous.

Jenny shot a warning look at Haswari.

"Don't take it upon yourself to _monitor_ Jethro," she said.

"I am within my rights," he said.

"No, you just don't like outsiders," Jenny responded in a low voice.

He studied her for a moment and held up his hands in a mocking gesture of surrender. He inclined his head. He stepped back and swept his hand out as if to let her pass.

"He is restless, like a caged animal," Haswari informed her, pointing at the door. "I am not sure I trust him."

Jenny scowled at Haswari, inexplicably angered by the comment.

"Chances are he doesn't trust you either."

She wasn't even sure if Jethro had met Haswari, but she felt confident that her comment was truthful. Haswari bowed his head and slithered down the hall, no doubt on his way to Ziva's room. Jenny wasn't sure Ziva was back from wherever she'd gone yet.

She slipped into her quarters, closing the door silently behind her. She wanted a hot bath, and she wanted to sleep for days. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the door, straightening after a brief moment. It struck her that it was abnormally dark in her quarters.

Sliding her hand over, she flipped on the switch, squinting and looking around. She locked her door. Jethro turned and looked at her. He was standing tensely by the desk, bent over slightly, gripping the edge tightly with both hands. He looked up at her when she turned the light in, blinking in the brightness.

Her brow furrowed.

"Why are you sitting around in the dark?" she asked curiously, unsure if she should laugh or be worried. The curtainss were open and moonlight was streaming in, but she was uncomfortable with how open they made the room feel at night.

She walked towards the curtains slowly, feeling a sort of charged anxiety in the room. He watched her, straightening up. Jenny glanced down at the coffee table and noticed pictures that hadn't been there before. She strained her eyes, but the faces were a blur, and she just moved past to close the shades and pull the thick, plush burgundy curtains.

Jethro pushed away from her desk, and she heard him move around restlessly. He was sitting down on the edge of the couch when she turned back around. He picked up one of the pictures, and he held it in his hands gingerly, his thumbs on two corners.

Jenny yawned, folding her arms across her stomach and walking towards the couch.

"Jethro?" she asked hesitantly. "You okay?"

He didn't answer. He didn't even look at her. Swallowing, she sat down on the couch, not quite knowing why she chose to. She left a bit of space between them, leaning forward on her thighs a little. Bothered by the silence and the anxiety she still sensed, she reached out and picked up the other, lone picture.

Jenny bit back another yawn, smiling a little at the picture. It was old and frayed, the colour was fading. His wallet was lying on the table; she assumed this had been retrieved from there. It was a snapshot of a woman with her arms around a little girl, both grinning excitedly. The girl had a classic pink tutu on. The woman was a redhead; typical Jethro.

She snorted softly at her thoughts and placed the picture back down, tilting her head at him. His eyes were on the one in his hand.

"Who are they?" she asked mildly, breaking the silence. It was just a conversational question.

He reached up and rubbed a hand roughly over his mouth, laying the photo in his hand on the table. This one had him in it—or she was sure it was him, though he looked much younger. He was in uniform, and he was on his knees, hugging the same girl from the other photo.

Jenny had a sinking feeling in her stomach suddenly, and she couldn't explain why.

He lowered his hand from his mouth and pointed at the woman. There was something gentle about the way his finger delicately ran over the photo.

"Shannon," he introduced slowly, moving his hand to the little girl. His index finger shook slightly. "And Kelly," he said. Jenny was sure she had never heard Jethro speak so quietly. His words were very controlled.

Her eyes fell on the pictures again, and she was drawn to the faded, smiling face of the child. She felt sick again. She reached out hesitantly and touched the picture of the marine and the little girl with four fingers, turning it towards her. She tapped it gently.

"This is you," she remarked confidently. She tilted her head, looking at him, angling her knees towards him. He nodded, his eyes on her arm, as it hovered above his, touching his photograph.

"Jethro," she said his name quietly, studying the smooth, hard line of his jaw. "Who were they?" She felt innately that use of the past tense was correct, and when she asked this time, the unspoken meaning of her repetitive question was: who were they to _you_?

He cleared his throat loudly, and the noise made her wince.

"She was my wife," he said gruffly. "My first wife," he amended bitterly. She sensed a lot of regret in those words. His fingers brushed the cold surface of the picture again, covering the girl's eyes. "Kelly's my daughter," he said in a forced rush.

He had never talked about it before. No; not like this. If it had been discussed, it had been with those who knew the history—or it had all come out in a brutal fight between him and one of his wives. It was hard to talk like this. There was nowhere to run.

Jenny opened her mouth, and closed it again slowly. She pulled her hand back, and paused, hesitating. She settled her hand over his knee. She noted his words about Kelly were spoken in present tense. She noted that, because she felt like she couldn't breathe.

She wasn't sure what to say right now. His muscles under her hand felt like they would snap into pieces, he was so tense.

"What happened?" she asked mildly. She wrapped one arm protectively around herself, leaning somewhat closer to him. She looked down at the pictures, and back at him. "Come on, Jethro," she coaxed suddenly, the words coming out a little desperate.

"Murdered," he said gruffly. "They were murdered, while I was deployed. Shannon witnessed a marine's murder outside Pendleton. Mexican drug cartel. She was going to testify," he stopped talking.

She gasped softly, the noise more like a repressed cry.

"They killed her?" she queried softly, the use of the ubiquitous _they_ referencing the drug cartel. He yanked his hand away from the photograph as if he'd been burned and rubbed his chin stiffly.

"A hit man shot the agent protecting them while he was driving them to Kelly's ballet lesson," his words were dull at first, mechanical. He looked down at the picture of himself in marine fatigues hugging Kelly. "Shannon and Kelly died in the crash."

His words had turned hoarse again, choked out. The words _died_ and _crash_ seemed to draw all of the suppressed pain out into the open.

Jenny's eyes stung sharply. She looked at him a moment longer and turned her head sharply away, letting her hair shield her face. She lifted her hand insecurely from her waist to her mouth and covered her lips, taking a shaky breath. She had a feeling akin to that of having the floor she stood on wrenched from underneath her feet.

She felt like she had been tripped while walking downstairs, or smacked in the face. The emotions that might accompany those two scenarios washed over her, too; pain, anger, humiliation. She felt foolish for thinking she knew him so well, and she was angry for that same reason.

Simultaneously, she felt sorrow, and she felt understanding. On the heels of that came an overwhelming, aching guilt that threatened to engulf her. A few tears fell from her eyes against her will and she tried violently to swipe at them.

She drew in a breath, and as she sniffed, quietly, was unable to prevent a small noise of despair escaping her lips.

She turned her head back towards him.

"How old was she?" she asked thickly.

"Eight," he answered shortly.

His voice was so brittle, and he was still so tense. She had the feeling he was debating on whether to tell her at all, and she had barged in on that. She had thrown him off. She was unsure if he wanted comfort, or if he would bite her head off if she said a damn thing.

It clearly wasn't something he ever spoke of.

She felt nauseous. She moved her palm soothingly over his knee, then hesitated, and pulled her hand away, reaching up to push her hair back, insecurely again. She was at a loss for words, for actions. The lights in the room seemed too bright. It was like she had broken down some barrier to his soul and wasn't at all able to handle what she found.

She turned her head away again and tried to bite back a soft sob, but she couldn't. She abruptly covered her mouth, and stood up, running here thumb swiftly under her eyes. She paced to the desk. It hurt to breathe. She was trying to grasp the heartbreak he must feel. She took the pain of losing her father and magnified it, by ten.

"Jethro," she cried softly, turning around. Her eyes brimmed with tears. "Jethro, why didn't you ever _tell_ me?" she asked.

He looked up at her. His eyes were that cold, hard blue.

"What do you suggest I say, Jen?" he asked bitterly. "'You're good in bed—and by the way, my wife and daughter are dead'," he mocked. She flinched at the morbid nature of his words.

"I don't know," she said quietly, placating. She regretted asking why he'd never told her. It was unfair. He was right. There was no way to bring it up naturally. Even this wasn't natural. He threw out his hand, the palm turned to the ceiling.

"Would it have changed anything?" he snapped viciously.

She sucked in her breath quietly, the inquiry striking her like a bucket of cold water. She was surprised how much it hurt. She felt twice the bitch. And then, she felt a twinge of anger at him, too, for suing that against her—she hadn't known. She'd had no idea.

He had never _told_ her.

"I don't know," she said again, meeting his eyes.

He stared back at her, his mouth an unreadable line. The pictures that started the conversation were forgotten on the table. Her eyes felt like lead; she was tired and stressed and now she was stricken; grieved.

She felt sick again.

Jenny wrapped an arm around her waist unconsciously and bent her head forward, covering her eyes briefly with her free hand. She covertly brushed tears that threatened to fall out of her eyes, trying to grant him that courtesy. The last thing on earth he wanted to see was her crying. This wasn't _her_ tragedy.

She took a shaky breath and her mouth trembled. She stared at him, for a moment at his hollow blue eyes, then the fist clenched on his knee. Her head ached. She didn't know what to say. She swallowed hard and brought the base of her palm to her eye, closing her eyes a moment. Then, she slowly came forward, perching on the edge of the table in front of him.

Jenny looked down at the picture of Jethro hugging his daughter. She rested her hand on it reverently. She knew her eyes were brimming red, her face was pale, and she looked a mess, but she did her best to conceal it.

"God," she whispered hoarsely, her voice cracking. She reached for his hand; he stiffened abruptly, and for a moment she thought he wasn't going to allow her to take it. He did.

She laced her fingers through his and then covered his hand with her other one, squeezing gently. It was a gesture of comfort; not of romance. There were no appropriate words to say; somehow she knew that, so she touched. She thought maybe he needed a show of solidarity _without_ having to explain himself, or without having to talk.

It took that moment of holding his hand tightly for her to realize her anger had flared and faded quickly; that she had no right to be angry with him for it really was a horror of which there was no way to speak of, and she had only had that quick blaze of resentment because she had arrogantly thought she knew him to the core.

She felt drained, still.

Taking a deep breath, she drew his hand towards her, pressing her lips to his knuckles lightly. He glared at their hands, and met her eyes shamelessly, still guarded. She opened her mouth, but yet again had no words. She just bit her lip.

"Go to bed, Jenny," he said gruffly. His voice was coarse and tired, but not rude or angry. "You need sleep." He sounded honestly concerned.

Okay; he wanted to be alone. She understood, she thought. He told her this because he had to; because it was unfeasible to carry on without her knowing about this thing—these _people_—in his past. She wished he had told her out of some other motive than necessity; closeness, perhaps, or respect.

But the state of their relationship afforded her the knowledge, and the power to accept, that she was undeserving of that kind of emotional trust.

She nodded her head slowly, loosening her grip. She slipped her fingers from his and stood, leaning forward at the last minute. She placed her hands gingerly on either side of his face, her thumbs aligning with the clenched muscle of his jaw.

Jenny held his gaze for a moment and then kissed him chastely on the brow, her thumbs running over his warm skin. She straightened up and squeezed past him, her lugs brushing his knees. She walked steadily from the parlor to her personal bedroom and shut the door quietly.

She heavily leaned back against it, sliding down carefully and covering her mouth shakily with her hand.

* * *

><p>At six a.m., the usually scalding Israeli sun was just beginning to stretch its morning rays across the skyline of Tel Aviv, and the early temperature, a warm, dry sort of cozy precursor to the smoldering desert of the day hours, was perfectly conducive to a solitary work out.<p>

It was dawning spring in Israel, and one may expect blistering heat one day, and cool pleasing rain the next.

Since she had taken up the avante garde position of NCIS _liaison_, for lack of a better word, to Mossad, Jenny had ventured out at the crack of dawn every morning to run the just-wakening streets of the capital city. Inevitably, some mornings she was thwarted; if a mission ran long—or even started circa five a.m., she looked forward to the run.

She had only refrained from doing it for a week or so in early February; she had been consumed with other things, not to mention the health questions she'd had, yet been unwilling to ask.

This morning, however, she wanted this run.

She let herself out of her quarters silently, her hair pulled back, dressed in workout clothes, careful not to wake Jethro. He looked to be asleep, face down on the couch, but you never could tell with him. She didn't feel sick this morning. A little light-headed maybe, but no nausea.

The palace was quiet, but she knew behind every wall it was brimming with activity. Mossad never slept, and woe to the unfortunate soul who thought it did. An armed guard sitting just inside the exit door used by officers looked to be asleep, his cap pulled down over his eyes, but as she passed, he cocked his gun at her, and lowered it only when she provided the necessary identification code.

When she got out into the slowly brightening sun, she almost felt like she could breathe again. The city was not quite abuzz with life yet, but it would be upon her return. She took a different route this morning, as always, making her routine unpredictable. It was a technique drilled into the head of Mossad officers, and she'd been quick to pick it up.

She took to the sleepy streets of Ramat Aviv, Tel-Aviv's swanky, high class neighborhood nearby. Jenny took a deep breath, deftly sweeping a sweatband into her tied-up hair, and she started to run.

With every firm, hard hit of her foot on the concrete, she was reminded she couldn't _run_ away this time.

* * *

><p>Only behind the scope of his sniper rifle had Leroy Jethro Gibbs felt this alert, this vigilant and restrained. It was a taste of ultimate power, mixed with an itching anticipation to pull the trigger, a confident arrogance, and the subtle, niggling notion that if you missed the shot—you were done.<p>

But he wasn't behind the scope of his Kate, and he was damn near close to wishing he was.

He had woken up to find Jenny absent. It bothered him. She should have been asleep. He had prowled about the apartment, looking for a sign of where she had gotten to, and then told himself with bitter sarcasm if she wanted him to know, she'd have left a letter.

He had barely a chance to wake-up before Tali David had pranced stealthily into Jenny's room and informed him that her father would like 'an audience' with him.

So here he stood, in the infamous Director's office, refusing to take the seat Eli David so placidly offered him.

The man had glasses perched on his nose, but they made him look no less threatening. It was clear he had seen a lot in his time. His eyes had the look of a soldier who had seen battle so often, life had become just that.

Gibbs didn't know this man. He had no reason to trust him or be friendly. He bristled at insult of being 'summoned' and he was hard-pressed to discern what Mossad's director could possibly have to say to him.

"Unexpected circumstances we meet under, Agent Gibbs," the Director stated obviously. Gibbs resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "What was the nature of your relationship with Jenny in Europe?"

Gibbs arched an eyebrow warningly.

"Professionally," the Director said smoothly, looking up at Gibbs calmly. "You were her partner, yes? Or…her superior?"

Gibbs chose his words carefully, remaining silent for a moment.

"Partner," he decided on finally, enunciating the word pointedly.

David flicked his wrist as if to patronize the wording and nodded. Surveying some papers in front of him, he marked of something with a pen and continued:

"You instructed her in covert operations in Europe," he remarked. "You were responsible for her training, yes?" he asked. Gibbs was unsure if that particular question required an answer. The man seemed to know the history rather well on his own.

He settled for an affirmative grunt.

David looked up and removed his glasses, holding them loosely between his thumb and index finger. He leaned back in his chair and eyed Gibbs for a moment. He inclined his head graciously.

"_Yishar_ _Koach,_" he said, nodding slowly. "Well done. Jenny is impressive," he remarked. "To say the very least."

Jethro gave a half, tight smile. He didn't like David calling her by her first name. He didn't like the familiarity, whether it was Mossad tradition or not.

"You wonder why I desired to speak with you, Agent Gibbs?" asked David.

Gibbs _wondered_ if it was just the Hebrew-to-English translation of languages, or if David really did mean to keep phrasing his sentences as if he was telling Gibbs what to think and what he had done.

Instead of voicing that particular thought, Gibbs said:

"No," with a shrug of his shoulders. He had suspicions, but on his list of things to care about at the moment, the motives of Eli David were low.

Director David's eyebrows lifted considerably, and he stared at the agent, smiling appreciatively after a moment.

"I have my reasons," he said into the tense air, leaning forward. He folded his hands on his desk, his fingertips making a steeple. "Have you and Jenny finalized your decisions concerning this matter?"

Gibbs narrowed his eyes at David. He considered telling him to stuff it, but reigned in the desire, figuring cooperation might be best. This was Jenny's boss, after all. He didn't want her suffering the repercussions.

"She's staying here," he said gruffly. "I'm stationed stateside. That doesn't change."

"The two of you will then engage in a long-distance relationship," mused David.

Gibbs nodded curtly, choosing to ignore the use of the word 'relationship'. He couldn't define what he had with Jenny right now, but it was hardly a relationship. Right now, it might gently be called 'cooperation'.

"You should be aware that Jenny will be ill-advised to leave the country. Not only for security and safety reasons, but for the simple detail that while she is classified as operating under the direction of a foreign agency, she is not allowed within US borders without jumping through some largely inconvenient hoops," Director David informed Gibbs calmly. "A majority of the traveling, it seems, will be on your part."

Gibbs had the distinct feeling David was trying to scare him off. He sensed a sinister vibe from the elder man, and it put him on the defensive. This, he remembered, was the man who had all but ordered Jenny to have an abortion—and at that thought, Gibbs grit his teeth.

"It is what it is," Gibbs said shortly, showing his commitment.

The Director eyed him again, silently; calculating.

"Very well, then," he said quietly. "I would rather work around this inconvenience than lose a vital operative such as Jenny," he said swiftly, leaning back. He gestured for Gibbs to take a seat again.

Gibbs stood stoically.

Eli David made a noise of discontent and leaned forward, placing his glasses back on his nose and picking up a pen.

"I suggest you sit down, Gibbs," he said a little sharply. "You will have to be read in on procedure concerning the entering and exiting of this compound, as well as numerous other security policies pertaining to Mossad if you are to be a frequent visitor."

The tone brooked no nonsense. Gibbs glared critically at Eli David, slowly taking a seat against his will. He conceded; the Director was right—there was certain Intel he needed. Gibbs leaned back without a word, his expression no less harsh.

* * *

><p>She returned to the palace a little over an hour and a half later. Her chest hurt, her eyes were heavy, she was hot, and there was a stitch in her side. She did not even spare a 'good-morning' to the door guard.<p>

She had pushed herself farther than she should have in her run this morning, considering she'd taken that sabbatical. Her hair was falling in wisps out of its ponytail and drooping over her sweatband to pester her face.

Jenny jogged up the stairs, losing the last of her breath to get out of the open as quickly as possible. She found refuge in the kitchen area on her floor, where Tali had again left out a plate of saltines.

One look at them, though, and the rigor of the workout overwhelmed her and she dashed to the counter and vomited in the sink, grimly surrendering to her elusive morning sickness. She stood over the sink for a few minutes, taking deep breaths, then pushed her stray hairs back tiredly and went for the fridge, retrieving the ginger ale.

It would calm her stomach until she could get some tea made.

She sipped the ginger ale, picking up a cracker and watching her tea brew. She was too restless to sit at the moment. Her heart was still struggling to achieve its normal rhythm, and the seat rapidly cooling on her skin was making her chilly.

She leaned back and pressed her glass to her forehead. The tea brewed away, noisily and happily. Her scarcity of sleep lately was beginning to frighten her a little. She worried she might start having health problems. She hadn't been able to get a moment's rest last night.

She sat against her door most of the night, silent, thinking of Jethro sitting in the other room.

His revelation last night had come as a shock; that much was inarguable. It had done a number on her assumptions. Oh, they had been good about avoiding discussions of their pasts in Europe, what with the sticky tales of his ex-wives, and while neither of them was particularly good at sharing, there had been a deep sense of intimacy and understanding between them.

Irrationally, she felt suddenly like she did not know him at all. She supposed there was some rationale to it; the death of his wife and daughter explained volumes about his character, but it opened up to her a side of him she'd never scratched the surface of.

The teapot whistled and she put her ginger ale down with relief, desperate to snuggle the mug in her palms and sit down. She poured the tea into a mug, blew gently on the top, and dragged her feat to a kitchen chair, collapsing into it. She held her mug tightly in her hands, watching it steam.

His revelation made her so insecure. In a split second last night, she had understood why had had so forcefully told her he didn't want an abortion. Doubt and uncertainty had infected her heart, though; Jethro had never thought to have kids with either of his ex-wives.

Jenny lifted her mug to her lips and drank slowly, the hot liquid coating her mouth.

Tears sprung to her eyes and stung like hell, but it wasn't due to the scalding tea. She had thrust this on him. It had to be hard for him. She had never wanted children, but she had always considered them innocent and sweet, and she had strong opinions on how they should be raised—most of which made her decide _against_ having her own.

It set her on a disheartened page already to think she and Jethro had such a broken relationship, and she was already nervous and worried she wasn't going to warm to the idea of being a mother—but now, she was afraid of what was in Jethro's head. Did he want another child, after losing his daughter so violently?

And if he didn't, then what right had they to be parents at all?

She took a sip, lowered her tea. She started to take another sip, but instead set her cup down roughly. Her anxiety and fatigue overwhelmed her without warning and she buried her face in her hand, muffling the sobs that were suddenly escaping her lips.

Jenny reached up and yanked the ponytail holder out of her hair, pulling the sweatband away as well. She hid her face, even with no one in the room. It made her angry to cry.

It hurt to breathe when she was focusing on remaining as quiet as possible. She didn't notice Jethro storm past the open door; nor did she notice when he backtracked alertly and glared in at her.

She did, however, hear his sure footsteps as he walked in, and she heard a chair pull out as he dragged it up next to her and sat down, leaning forward on his knees. She brushed her hand under her eyes and tried to compose herself, but only succeeded in bowing her head again.

He studied her for the longest moment, and then he reached out and rested his hand on the back of her head, stroking her hair soothingly.

"What's wrong, Jenny?" he asked gruffly, his voice breaking the tense silence that always seemed to hang between them.

She moved her head stiffly in a negative, pressing her knuckles to her lips lightly. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"I cannot handle this, Jethro," she said shakily. "Dammit!" she smacked her palm on the table roughly and flinched. Her tea spilled over, shaken dramatically. He barely even moved.

Jethro didn't say anything. She heard him sigh heavily. He reached out and covered her hand with his, flipping it over and rubbing two fingers over the now flushing palm. Much like she had held his hand last night.

"Yes," he said curtly. He looked at her bowed head and ran his hand cursorily over her red hair again; he was sorry she was in such a state. "Jen, yes we can."

He used the word _we_ pointedly. It was not a matter of _could_ or _couldn't_; they _had_ to handle it.

* * *

><p>Tuesday morning dawned as sunny as most in Israel, but the sky was cloudy and the lack of dry heat in the air brooked rainfall, a welcome event to the inhabitants of Tel Aviv. Promising as the weather of the day looked; Tuesday dawned too early and not at all pleasantly for some.<p>

Particularly for those attempting to board a flight after the Pashto terrorist attack that had taken place just days before.

Airport security, already considerably considerable in Israel, had been tightened almost to noose-like proportions, and Gibbs was required to be there a good three and a half hours before his flight would even _think_ about taking off.

It served to put him in a foul mood; slumming around in the crowded, tense airport was unpleasant enough, but he had a hell of a flight to look forward to—not to mention the mess he'd find when he arrived back stateside at NCIS.

Jenny was with him, and Ziva David was prowling around somewhere. Gibbs had figured out in the past few days that Ziva was Jenny's partner. Most of the things he had learned about Jenny's position had come from intent observation and hypothesis; no one at Mossad talked about anything, it seemed, but food and the weather.

Unless it was Tali, in which case the conversation involved schoolwork, an American film, or French literature. _She_ was a refreshing character.

Past security and near the gate at which he would board, Gibbs stood silently in front of Jenny, looking down at her. She tilted her head up, her arms crossed, one gripping her shoulder. She looked less pale and less tired than she had when he had first come across her again.

They could find nothing to say to each other.

Ziva saved them from having to by reappearing mysteriously at Jenny's side, her dark hair pulled back from her face with a thin headband.

"The flight you are on is mostly returning university students," she said to Jethro shortly. "I have spoken to the attendant and the IDF lieutenant checking passports. You will be allowed to keep your concealed weapon providing you flash your badge," she said. "When the lieutenant asks your business in Israel, tell him '_mishpokhe'_."

"'_Mishpokhe_,'" Gibbs repeated carefully, lifting an eyebrow in question.

"It will ensure to the guard you are the American I spoke of," Ziva said.

Gibbs nodded, still glaring at her as if he expected clarification.

"It's Yiddish," Jenny said quietly. "For '_family'_."

He turned his eyes to Jenny, cocking his head slightly. He nodded again.

Ziva said something to Jenny in Hebrew. Jenny answered, faltering only a little. Gibbs watched the exchange with interest, noting how it took Jenny moments to translate in her head, think about the proper response, and say it. It wasn't like her French. Her French was effortless.

Ziva turned to Gibbs and bowed her head respectfully.

"_Shalom_, Agent Gibbs," she said. "_Lehitra'ot,_" Ziva added with a small smile. She slipped away from them, gracefully wandering away, presumably to give them a moment alone. Gibbs watched her find a bench near a vendor and lounge back, her eyes seeming to watch everything.

"What did she say?" Gibbs asked gruffly.

Jenny reached up and placed her hand on her neck, pursing her lips.

"'_Lehitra'ot'_," she repeated slowly. "'See you later'," she translated.

"Ah."

Jenny smiled slightly and looked over his shoulder. She looked at the old, beaten up Marine-issue backpack he'd brought with him, and she thought of the pictures in his wallet, of Shannon and Kelly.

"Jethro," she said hesitantly.

He cleared his throat and very slowly, he shook his head. He didn't know what she was going to say, but he didn't think it would do any good; it probably wasn't worth it to say it right now.

The call came for his flight, first in Hebrew, then Arabic, and then accented English.

Jenny rubbed her neck, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Gibbs glanced as the people began to board, well aware he needed to be on quickly so he would cause less stir flashing his government badge.

He reached out and rested his hand on Jenny's check, pulling her head forward gently. He pressed his lips to her temple.

"Take care of yourself, Jen," he said sincerely. He meant it, too.

She looked up at him and smiled. He gave her a nod, backed away, and turned to board his flight.

* * *

><p>He opened his palm and with learned subtlety, showed the IDF lieutenant checking passengers his badge, allowing the man a good look before he deftly slipped it back into his pocket. He tapped his concealed sig covertly, letting the man know where it was.<p>

The IDF lieutenant nodded.

"What was your business in Israel, Mr. Gibbs?" the lieutenant asked casually.

Gibbs adjusted his backpack on his shoulder. Gruffly, he answered, weighing the meaning of the word in his mind:

"_Mishpokhe._"

* * *

><p><em>-At this point, it is very early March, 2000.<em>

_-Alexandra_


	3. Shalosh

_A/N: For the purpose of preventing this from becoming some ridiculous 100 chapter, drawn out fic, throughout there will be periodic time jumps, which could range from a few weeks to a few months. Look to the characters for clues on how long it's been; if I think it's particularly confusing I'll clarify with a note at the beginning of each section. At this point, though, it's still relatively day-by-day._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Three<strong>_

"What is this racket called again?"

"It isn't _Racket_, it's _Glass Casket_. _Racket_ has a completely different sound, Tony, it's like a melodic Indie blend!"

Newly recruited NCIS probationary Agent Anthony DiNozzo, junior, wasn't sure if she had misunderstood his question, or if she was being purposefully cheeky. He crossed his arms and tilted his head, opting to ignore the off-base answer he'd received and attempt to peek up the work _in_appropriate skirt that was part of the ensemble of one Abby Sciuto.

This job was weird. He had thought his job at Baltimore PD was weird, but this job was way weirder. And this had been a weird week.

Tony watched the spirited and smiling gothically-attired NCIS lab tech work her magic on the ballistics she had been handed for his latest case. Wait; scratch that. Tony was pretty sure he wasn't allowed to refer to the case as _his_ case.

Actually, he didn't know what to call it. It had originally been Gibbs' case. Then Gibbs had up and disappeared like the spooky spectre of unquestionable Marine that he was, and Tony had been left in a sort of federal limbo: Director Morrow wouldn't allow him to spearpoint cases even though he had years of "cop" experience under his belt, but he required Tony to be at work committing to his probie hours in the meantime.

So Tony had spent the last five—or maybe it was six, now—days trudging around NCIS exploring, spying on people, and being generally babysat by busy, over-worked senior agents before he finally discovered Abby Sciuto was one hell of a person to hang with.

She was a newbie, too, or so he gathered.

The intriguing, unorthodox little vampire princess who (rumor had it) slept in a coffin had two months on him.

The screeching, banging, screaming of Miss Sciuto's death metal music went from deafening to dull roar and she whirled around, sipping some highly caffeinated drink from a brightly decorated, massive plastic cup.

"Were you looking up my skirt, Tony?" she asked, arching a black eyebrow.

"Huh? No," he shook his head pointedly. "What? That is unprofessional. Of course not."

"Methinks you doth protest too much," Abby retorted. "That's Shakespeare," she informed him, tipping her cup towards him and pointing the straw. She narrowed her eyes threateningly. "Don't do it again."

"Yes ma'am. Abby," Tony corrected himself at the last minute and winced.

Abby giggled. She whirled back to the computer, hit a few buttons, and stomped a combat-booted foot angrily. She grumbled and smacked her palm on the mouse in her hand, huffing.

"It's going to be a while before I get this ballistics match," she whined. "Apparently we're waiting on some information the FBI has. We need clearance."

"Why do federal agencies need clearance from each _other_?" Tony asked, furrowing his brow. That seemed unproductive at best.

"Because the word 'federal' is involved," Abby growled unhappily. She sighed and turned around, leaning on her counter. Her computer whirred away.

"So," Tony said loudly after a moment. Abby cocked her head. "Did you find out where Gibbs went?"

"To save the world from impending doom?" Abby responded. Tony gave her a look and she laughed, rolling her eyes at him. "What would I know, Tony, he's _your_ boss."

Tony frowned.

"Come on, Abby, you couldn't hunt him down?"

"Using _what_ leads, exactly?"

"The incomparable genius of your big, beautiful brain?" Tony tried.

"Sweet," Abby remarked. "It's killing you, isn't it?"

"He ran off in the middle of the night!" Tony whined, quite close to stomping his foot. It was killing him. He was an incredible busybody and he wanted to know what his angry, silent boss was doing.

"I want him to show his ass back here so the other agents will stop babysitting me!"

Abby clicked her tongue in a reprimand.

"Language like that will bring Gibbs and his disrespect senses back in seconds."

Tony flinched and looked around, his hand going automatically to the back of his head gingerly. He glared at the feisty Goth, and narrowed his eyes.

"_You_ know where he is."

"I do not," Abby answered indignantly. "And I wouldn't tell you if I did. Gibbs is a very private man. And a very scary one."

Tony crossed his arms and glared at Abby.

"_You're_ not scared of him. Pacci says he has a thing for you," he retorted.

"A 'thing'? '_Thing'_? He has simply turned NCIS on its ear because he _likes_ me," she said proudly, straightening her shoulders primly. "_'Thing'_," she muttered.

"How do I get on his good side?" Tony asked conspiratorially, seriously wishing for Abby's advice. He had thought he was a downright brilliant cop until he'd started working for Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

Abby smirked suddenly.

"_I_ gave him a hug."

Tony gulped.

"What?"

Abby lifted a shoulder innocently.

"Should I…hug him?" Tony asked hesitantly.

Out of nowhere, a hand collided violently with the back of his head.

Tony yelped and leapt forward, jumping around and grabbing the back of his head.

"Boss!" he greeted, half-enthusiastic, half-terrified.

Abby smiled at Gibbs. He gave her a look over Tony's shoulder, quirked up the corner of his mouth subtly, just for her, and turned an icy glare on his probationary agent.

"Party's over," he growled. "What've ya got?"

* * *

><p>He dove right back into the mess of casework he'd left in the wake of his Middle Eastern sabbatical. It was a hell of a way to keep from being overwhelmed, something he liked to think never happened to him.<p>

It took a couple of weeks to straighten things out; he did it harshly, and often with enough hostility to occasionally frighten the unshakeable Abby Sciuto. He had sat down briefly with Director Morrow to finalize a few issues. He had yet to deal with quite a few other things.

The doors of autopsy swung open with their usual _swish_, and Gibbs prowled into the lair of Doctor Donald Mallard, his stalwart Scottish friend. Ducky was the only colleague who had brightly ignored Gibbs' demeanor, only showing his acknowledgement of the sudden bitter shift with weighty stares and an occasional lifted brow.

Tonight, later than usual, Ducky bustled away over the gaping chest of an unfortunate victim, his assistant nowhere to be found. Gibbs had sent DiNozzo home after a grueling day of questioning a suspect.

He had resolved to clear the air with Ducky, though he wasn't sure if mid-autopsy was the best time to do it. Of the few people he and Jenny had decided were considered need-to-know, Ducky was one.

Gibbs leaned back against an autopsy table.

"You heard from Shepard?" he asked abruptly, without greeting or further adieu.

The elderly medical examiner, who had just looked up happily to great his agent friend, paused, his eyebrows going up considerably.

"There is a name I haven't heard in a while," he mused, knowing exactly to whom Gibbs referred the instant he heard the surname. He alone had known what the reason might be behind Gibbs' bearlike behavior since his return from Europe; he had his suspicions about Gibbs and that charming redhead ex-partner of his.

Ducky shook his head slowly, looking at Gibbs intently.

"No, Jethro, I can't say I have," he answered, hesitating briefly before he picked up his tools and returned to the flayed corpse in front of him. He thought it odd that Jethro would suddenly march in and start asking about Jennifer Shepard.

"Any reason for the sudden pique of interest?" Ducky asked casually.

Gibbs braced his palms on the autopsy table behind him and gripped, his knuckles turning white.

"Jenny's having a baby," he said gruffly. It was curt, and a little less…celebratory than most announcements of its ilk were.

Ducky's hand slipped in his work. He paused once again and turned, staring at Jethro over his shoulder.

"Jennifer is pregnant?" he asked, his surprise evident in his tone and the lines etched on his face.

"Nah, Duck, she's going to click her ruby slippers together and call the stork," Gibbs retorted shortly.

Dr. Mallard gave Gibbs a harrowing look.

"Anthony will be pleased to know you are making cinema references," he said dryly, laying down his tools. "There is no need to bite my head off, Jethro," he reprimanded gently. He abandoned the corpse he was working on and turned his full attention to Gibbs.

The two men considered each other for a moment, and then Ducky chose to break the silence and bridge the gap. He supposed Gibbs must have some reason for bringing this to his attention.

"I assume that is where you had disappeared to this past week," he stated matter-of-factly. "You were with her."

Gibbs nodded bluntly.

"And where on the map will we find Jenny these days?" Ducky queried.

"Middle East," grunted Jethro vaguely, giving Ducky a look that clearly said he would not, and was not authorized, to say anymore. The loaded, sort of awkward silence fell again, and Ducky hesitated momentarily.

"Jethro, are you the father?"

Gibbs' reaction answered sufficiently. He raised his hands, rolled his eyes a little, and gave Ducky a look as if to question if he was _really_ asking like he didn't know.

"Oh, my," Ducky sighed, giving Gibbs his full attention. He folded his arms across his chest and shook his head a little. "This is unexpected," he remarked quietly.

Gibbs gave him a skeptical, suspicious look. He wondered just how _unsuspecting_ Ducky had been about his and Jenny's _professional_ relationship.

The two semi-old friends looked at each other silently for a moment.

"Might there be a particular reason you are telling me the happy news?" Ducky asked after a moment, sensing a reserved nature about Gibbs' attitude.

The other man studied Ducky for a minute. He reached up and rubbed his chin, shrugging a little.

"Jen wanted you to know," he muttered. "She trusts you, I trust you," he went on gruffly. He paused briefly. Noemi knew; Morrow knew—it was logical and helpful for someone close to him to be aware, just in case. And Ducky had been with them in Europe.

"I see," Ducky said, tilting his head. "Are you shouldering your responsibility then, Jethro?" he asked protectively.

Gibbs glared at him, in a way that could only be called vicious.

"You think you're her father or somethin', Duck?" he growled tensely, the look on his face turning almost hostile. He was offended Ducky would even suggest—

"She doesn't seem to have one to do the job," Ducky answered carefully. "I simply thought Jennifer might need someone in her corner," his voice was unthreatening, and he lifted his shoulders passively.

"She doesn't," Gibbs said harshly, his stance tense. "Don't suggest I'd abandon her, Duck," he snapped.

"I had to ask the question," Ducky stated quietly. "I meant no insult," he added sincerely.

Gibbs looked at him with a set jaw, his eyes dark. He pulled his hand down from his chin and gripped the autopsy table, relaxing his aggressive position just a bit.

"Does Director Morrow know?" Ducky asked hesitantly.

Gibbs nodded curtly. He spoke after a few minutes of silence:

"Jenny and I…we're keeping this under wraps," he said in a low voice.

Ducky looked at him with interest. He thought about how this must be affecting Jethro. Truth be told, he still wasn't quite sure why he was being told. He was curious about quite a few things; namely, how this was going to work around Gibbs' and Jennifer's decidedly risky careers.

Ducky nodded briefly and picked up his tools, turning briskly back to the corpse. He smiled blithely, pulling the clear shield over his face, glancing back at Jethro over his shoulder with an accepting smile.

"Congratulations are in order," he said, turning back to his body. "Under wraps as it may be."

Gibbs glared at Ducky's turned back, watching him work. He reached up and rubbed his temples, his brow furrowing, pulled together with stress. Still, at Ducky's word, the corner of his mouth turned up just slightly in a smile.

* * *

><p>It looked like rain in Tel Aviv.<p>

The redhead frowned with distaste at the cloudy grey sky as she walked out onto the busy streets, hoping she would make it safely back to the compound before the sky tumbled down. Even in the face of how rare it was here, Jenny still hated the rain.

She left the medical clinic, one hand resting delicately over the back pocket of her cargo pants. She eyed her surroundings alertly and subtlety, completely aware with the appearance of being oblivious.

Someday, she might tell her kid that Mom's first ultrasound had doubled as a way to nix a cover she'd no longer be able to execute. While Jenny Shepard had seen her doctor, Ziva had hacked into the clinic's files and modified records to state that a certain Irish immigrant by the name of Morgan McFey had received an abortion.

A week from now, a newspaper article would tell story of the death, due to a botched prenatal termination, of a suspected IRA operative, and Israeli police would be given the opportunity to detain and question a doctor long suspected of activity with Hezbollah.

And so, the inconvenience of her _condition_, as Director David dearly loved to refer to it, had not turned out to be so completely inconvenient.

In such a way, she was yanked from her bar girl cover, abandoned her IRA persona, and yet managed to pull off a win for Mossad. All in a day's work.

Moving through the crowds gracefully, Jenny managed to avoid touching others as much as possible. She was conscious of a rather formidable IDF-issue knife in her boot and a lightweight handgun concealed at her hip.

She was being tailed, and that, too, was part of the _plan_.

Still, her palm hovered protectively over her back pocket, one thumb hooked casually into it.

Her stalker was a member of the terrorist cell she was doing business under the ruse of the IRA arms dealer turned pub waitress. He was low level, a bartender and small arms manager, and he had been set on her after it had been subtly hinted that she was having an affair with the very Islamic extremist physician who would soon be arrested.

It was all complicated and a little bit risky—messy to be sure, but it was a way to yank Jenny from the mission without making the cell she was infiltrating suspicious; and it was easily going to work. Terrorists didn't like to share their white women, when they allowed white women to live at all.

When this week was over, she had to face the cold hard facts. Things were going to change.

Jenny turned a corner; catching site of the man slinking along in what he thought was a sneaky way behind her. She smirked and considered the shortcut she was going to take to shake him and disappear—

Her concentration broke suddenly and one hand flew a little hyperactively to her hip; a telltale sign to many on the streets that she had a weapon. She flinched, scowling inwardly at the rookie move.

She had spotted a familiar face, and he had moved towards her aggressively; her movement had been reactionary.

Ari Haswari was smoking against a storefront war, one leg propped up behind him. He was amusing himself with Chinese handcuffs, bought off a novelty vendor. And he looked up and caught her eye at precisely the wrong moment.

"Jenny," he said pleasantly—and loudly. Too loudly.

Her face drained of what colour it had these days. It would be fatal if the man following her heard Haswari. Her cover would unravel. She would be dead in seconds.

Holding her hand low in front of her stomach, she made a sign with three fingers, intent on giving him the signal she was working. His brow furrowed. He looked at her and smirked in his lazy, lion-like way. He greeted her in Hebrew.

"Jenny, my friend," he said again, pushing off of the storefront.

In a moment of panic, her hand moving quickly away from her back pocket for the first time, she stormed forward the few strides that separated herself and Haswari and grabbed his shoulders, slamming him roughly back against the wall.

She glared at him briefly, her lips curling back to show her teeth, and inclined her head ever so subtly to the man who had stopped and ducked now behind a vendor. Then, she lunged forward, and kissed him violently, pressing him up against the wall.

* * *

><p>She slammed her palms down on the beautifully crafted wooden desk before her, her body rigid with anger. She hadn't felt this shaken up, this edgy or—dare she say, <em>frightened<em>—since the moment in Paris when a bullet from her gun had taken down the wrong man at the wrong time.

"He damn near blew my cover, Eli!" she roared, thrusting her finger out accusingly at the smug, calm bastard lounging in the chair across the room.

"Shepard over-exaggerates," drawled Haswari.

Her knuckles were white, and her hands were shaking. After a raging fight with Ziva's brother, Jenny had spent the afternoon, into the night, pacing outside the Director's office, demanding an audience.

So here she stood.

Jenny turned on him sharply.

"You _do_ _not_ sit there and tell me you were unaware of the logistics of the mission termination," she snarled harshly. "You son of a bitch, you called me by my American name!"

"Let us lower our voices, hmm?" broke in the Director solemnly.

"No, I will not," growled Jenny, whirling back on him. Her hair flew over her shoulder and gathered on one side. "He was _shouting_ my name down the street. God dammit, Eli, you cannot sit back and be lax about this!"

The Director sighed heavily and sat up, holding his hands out in a passive way. He shot a dark, angry look at his son, followed by a patronizing one that was meant specifically for Jenny.

"Ari," he said quietly. "You know Mossad protocol. You do not refer to foreign operatives by their given names in the streets. You never know who might be watching. Jenny was always to be referred to as 'Morgan'."

Haswari waved a hand dismissively, resting his hand lightly on his knee.

"I was not aware Shepard's actual doctor's appointment doubled as her pseudo-abortion," he said silkily. "I misunderstood, I am afraid."

"Bullshit," Jenny snarled. "Bullshit, Haswari, you're a trickster. You're a daredevil, and you get off on taking foolhardy risks," she whipped her head around to him, red hair flying again. "What the hell were you doing in Tel Aviv, anyway? You're scheduled to run distractions for this in the Haifa weapons warehouses!"

"Do not spite me for getting my job done faster, my American girl," he patronized.

Jenny gripped the Director's desk, shaking her head in disbelief. She turned her eyes on Eli and stared him down, lifting an eyebrow. Waiting. Waiting to see what he was going to do about Haswari's grave mistake.

Eli turned a cold eye on Haswari for a moment, and then leaned forward, speaking quietly to Jenny.

"Is your part of the mission accomplished?" he asked in an undertone.

"Impeccably, with no regards to your son," she growled back. "The _maneuvering_ I had to do to smooth things over, Eli," she shook her head in warning, narrowing her eyes. "Resorting to playing the common whore in broad daylight."

"Not a far cry from your duties at NCIS," murmured Haswari with mockery, nodding gallantly towards Jenny's waistline.

"Enough, Ari," David held up a hand. He looked at Jenny silently. "You may go, Jenny," he said gently. "File your report, and rest," he lowered his voice. "I will deal with Ari's infraction."

"You damn well better," she barked. She shoved away from Eli David's desk, her jaw set tightly.

"It isn't just _my_ life he gambled, Eli," she reminded the older man in a very quiet voice.

Director David gave her a very subtle incline of the head. Jenny straightened her shoulders and turned on the heel of her combat boot, storming out of the room beautifully. She slammed the door, swallowing hard.

Her hand fell to her back pocket again, protective—subconscious.

* * *

><p>There was little she wanted more right now than a glass of bourbon.<p>

She had a throbbing headache, she was sore, and she still grimly wanted to wash the taste of Haswari from her mouth. It made her bitter to think the first _kiss_ she'd had in months had been a ploy to keep her cover intact.

Pushing her thick hair back away from her face, she pushed away from the desk she was leaning over and stepped into the bathroom, locking the door soundly behind her. She leaned over the tub and turned the faucet on, wriggling her fingers under the water until it was hot.

Jenny sighed, and stood up, wandering over to the cabinet to pull out a few fluffy towels. She slid off a pair of strappy sandals and dug her toes into the bath carpet, listening to the water as she gathered soap and washcloths.

When all was ready, and gave her a picture of a soothing night, she perched on the edge of the immaculate bathtub and poured in some bubbles, watching the bath brim with white foam as it filled.

Leaning back against the wall, the steady stream of water trickling sounding in her ears, Jenny reached delicately in her back pocket and slipped out the slightly bent pictures there, holding them up in front of her eyes.

She placed them on her knee and smoothed out the crinkles gently, tilting her head at the ultrasound images. It was a mesh of grey, white, black, and soft outlines; an almost surreal picture she had never anticipated seeing.

She had been reprimanded by the obstetrician for waiting so late to see a doctor—twenty weeks was apparently an irresponsible time to start prenatal care—yet she was looking at a picture of health, and refused to beat herself up. She still wasn't even sure how she felt about this at all.

The obstetrician had told her she was far enough along for him to determine the sex; she had told him she didn't want to know. She thought she might ask Jethro if he wanted to first. She thought she might ask Jethro a lot of things.

She wasn't sure she had the words in her repertoire appropriate to describe the way she was feeling. She had immersed herself in work in an attempt to forcefully forget Jethro, and their affair, a feat that had been next to impossible the moment she started to suspect she was pregnant.

Now, she felt like a chastised child who thought too much of herself, and had therefore been handed a punishment by the ironic hand of fate. She had so stealthily extricated herself from her relationship from Jethro only to be flung back into it by necessity and her own guilt.

There had been nothing worse than standing in front of Jethro again all those days ago. She hated that she had to—and a voice kept whispering in the back of her mind that she didn't _have_ to; she could well have gotten an abortion and never spoken of it again. That same damn voice kept telling her there was time still to take that route.

She was scared sick that the only thing stopping her was that she had already told Jethro about the baby.

She ran her thumb gently over the ultrasound photo, tracing the outline of the baby. The obstetrician had pronounced it healthy. She knew, instinctively, that it wasn't merely Jethro that was keeping her from aborting.

But she looked at the picture, and she still didn't feel the rush of excitement or love or…whatever that she was 'supposed' to. She still didn't want to have a baby. She had meant that when she said it to Jethro.

She just felt uncertain; overwhelmed, irresponsible…perhaps there was a twinge of curiosity jumbled in the chaos of emotions.

She swallowed hard and let her head fall back against the wall. Closing her eyes lightly, she replaced the sound of rushing bathwater with the tiny, fluttery heartbeat the ultrasound had detected hours ago. She was still shaky from hearing that, and then from the incident Haswari had instigated on the streets.

Jenny snapped her eyes open. She stood, glancing at the foamy water, and slipped out of her cargo pants, opening the bathroom door. Quickly, as she had to get back to the filling bath, she padded over to her desk and lifted an envelope she had already set out.

She held the two ultrasound prints up and narrowed her eyes, choosing with inexperience the best one. She slipped it into the envelope and picked up a permanent pen.

_Jethro, _she scrawled on the front.

She held the other one uncertainly in her hand and then pulled it to her and pressed it against her middle, stepping back to the bathroom. She locked the door again, shed the rest of her clothing, and sank into the hot bath.

Jenny propped her elbow on the tub and held the ultrasound in front of her face, biting her lip hard. She took a deep breath and let it out, frustrated at the sting in her eyes. She stared at the reality, and she wasn't confident in anything anymore.

* * *

><p>Dawn was breaking and the only sound in the early morning on this quiet Georgetown street was the slamming of a car door and muted footsteps on concrete. He took the decorative front-porch steps slowly, slipping the key he had been trusted with out of his pocket.<p>

He peered through the windows as he unlocked her door, noting that lights were on inside the house. It must be Noemi's car that was parked near the mailbox. He let himself in loudly, so as not to scare the housekeeper. She had been told to expect him, but he thought a little common courtesy was best.

The house smelled immaculately clean, the way houses often smelled if they were being looked after well and yet not lived in. He dropped his keys in a bowl on a table in the hall, glancing up the vacuumed stairs, and strolled towards the kitchen, pausing to glance into the dark study down the hall.

The Latina woman looked up as she heard him enter, her hands busy in the sink filling up a flower pot.

"_Hola_, Senor," she greeted, her brows going up. "Good morning. I wondered when I see you. It is so early," she remarked.

He gave her a little smile.

"Early for you, too," he answered gruffly. It was just past six. He'd gone for a run, gotten ready for work, and finally decided to head over her to check things out.

"Ah, _si_," agreed Noemi, lifting the full watering sprinkler. "I care for Senora's plants early on this day morning and Sunday and Thursday, then I am on my way to part time job," she explained. Her English was good, but lacked the ease of a native-born speaker.

Gibbs nodded, looking around the clean kitchen silently.

"There is mail for you, there," Noemi said helpfully, nodding her head at a bowl in the center of the table. Gibbs looked where she indicated. "I have been told you will come and go, and to allow it," she added, gathering her watering can and a towel.

She smiled.

"Senor Gibbs?"

"Hmm?" he grunted absently, sorting through Jenny's bills, junk mail, et cetera.

"_Felicitaciones_—ah, congratulations," she said warmly.

Gibbs looked up at her, his mouth turning up at the corner slightly. She was the second person to wish him well in the past two weeks, and he still had not quite figured out how to answer it. He inclined his head, and smiled a little more, so she would understand he appreciated it.

Noemi smiled broadly and left the room, heading off to nurture Jenny's inside landscape.

Gibbs, discovering at the bottom of the pile what Noemi had said was his, picked out a brown envelope with international stamps and address on it. He weighed it in his hand, turning to the coffee maker.

He paused and stared at it dismally, setting the envelope down and poking around the maker balefully. The thing looked like it cost about three hundred dollars, but it didn't look like it made coffee. He'd be damned if he was going to ask Noemi for help making coffee.

He swore half-heartedly under his breath, reaching for the envelope again. He'd begun to tear it open when his phone rang and he flicked it open without looking at the ID, expecting DiNozzo. The kid seemed to think the earlier he got to NCIS, the more impressive an agent he was.

"Gibbs," he grunted, tucking the phone between ear and chin and reaching up to get out coffee grinds as he coaxed open the envelope. There was a brief silence.

"Jethro," came Jenny's voice calmly. Then, swiftly: "I have been trying to figure out the time difference in order to make a convenient phone call."

Jethro set down the coffee grinds and reached up to hold the phone, stopping everything. He lifted a brow, assuming she was referencing the considerable time lapse there had been between his leaving Israel and this phone call. Three, three and a half weeks, maybe?

"Heard better excuses, Jen," he drawled, covering the ripped open envelope with his palm.

"Would 'attempting to assassinate a Saudi prince' suffice?" she tried wryly.

He smirked, and snorted.

He heard her breathe out; probably relieved he hadn't been more aggressive.

"Is it seven there?"

"Six," he corrected mildly.

"Are you at work?"

"No," he answered slowly. "I'm in your house."

Jenny laughed quietly.

"There are many circumstances under which that answer would be creepy," she remarked. He could imagine her raising her eyebrows carefully. "Noemi there?"

"She's watering your plants," he answered, pressing a button on the coffee maker. A shrill beeping sounded, and he glared at it. He heard footsteps behind him, and glanced around.

Noemi smiled, reached past him, and deftly arranged the coffee maker to brew, slipping back out of the kitchen as quickly as she'd appeared. Jethro chose not to mention to Jenny what had just happened.

He figured he ought to cut the small talk first. There wasn't much of a 'safe' area for them to linger in when it came to conversation, anyway.

"You all right, Jen?" he asked sincerely, giving the coffee maker a satisfied look as it started to brew.

"I'm fine," she answered slowly, as if she was taken aback. "Oh," she said after a moment. "Oh, you meant…yeah, everything's okay," she clarified. She paused, and Jethro absently went back to fully opening the envelope.

"My undercover operation was officially terminated a week ago," she said in a resigned sort of way. "I'm out of the field."

Jethro listened to her hesitating, unsure what to say. Yes, they had details to discuss and things to figure out, but this was still uncharted territory. He was unused to carrying on conversations with her.

"You tie up your loose ends?" Jethro asked, pulling a white envelope out of the larger packaging one. He tore it open with his finger, and then stopped to pour coffee.

"Yes, _boss_," she retorted smartly. Abruptly, she thought maybe it wasn't best to tease about their previous relationship, considering. Jethro didn't seem offended though. He smirked as he chose a coffee mug.

"Just keepin' you on your toes, Jenny," he said smoothly.

She snorted derisively. He sensed she was edgy, holding something back. He couldn't tell if it had to do with their situation, or with her ops. He let it linger, for another time. There was so much loaded silence.

Jethro picked up his full mug, leaned against the counter, and tucked his phone between his ear and shoulder again, returning to the envelope. He coaxed it open and reached inside.

"I saw a doctor, Jethro," she said finally, and he wondered if that's what she had been so hesitant to mention. He couldn't see why.

"Obstetrician?" he asked.

She made a noise in the affirmative.

"He said I'm good," she told him. "The baby's healthy."

"Good," Jethro said gruffly. "He give you a date?"

"Mid-August," she answered. "The sixteenth. I see him again next week," she added.

Gibbs pulled the contents of the envelope out and paused, staring unblinkingly at the ultrasound picture he was suddenly holding. He had not been expecting to receive it, and he was unprepared for the feelings the sight dredged up.

Just as it had with Kelly, the picture looked to him like nothing more than dark and light lines that defined a blur. But he was thinking of Kelly. When he had first looked at the same sort of picture of Kelly, he had no idea what it would feel like to be a father.

This time, he did.

"Jethro?" Jenny asked cautiously.

He swallowed.

"Yeah," he answered hoarsely, acknowledging he was still there.

"I don't really have anything else to say," Jenny said simply. "This is awkward," she admitted honestly, sounding half-embarrassed and half-upset about it.

"We're gonna have to get past that, Jen," he said firmly.

"Hmmm," she made a non-committal noise. "Yeah," she agreed. "I do have to cut this short, Jethro, David and I have to sit in on a briefing," she said, the tone of her voice summing up the conversation.

"Which one?" quipped Jethro a little sarcastically.

Jenny snorted.

"Ziva," she answered calmly. He nodded, though she couldn't see it. He took a drink of his coffee, holding the ultrasound picture between thumb and index finger. He studied it. He looked at the Hebrew writing on it, the numbers, and Jenny's full patient name across the top.

"I'll give you a call after my next appointment," she said.

"Jen," he said suddenly, sensing she was about to hang up. He set down his mug and grasped the phone, photo and cell in the same hand.

"Yes?" she asked slowly.

He pressed his lips together, narrowing his eyes and looking up.

"The ultrasound picture," he began gruffly. "Appreciate it," he said shortly. It really was all he could manage at this point.

"I wasn't sure—" she started, pausing. "You're welcome," she seemed to change her mind mid-sentence, and finished dully.

They said their strained goodbyes. Leroy Jethro Gibbs finished his coffee, put things back in their place, and let Noemi know he was gone. He opened his wallet on the way out, looked at the ultrasound again, then slipped it in along with Jenny's house key and went to work.

* * *

><p>Machines whirred.<p>

"All evidence and witness statements corroborate Lieutenant Croswell's suicide—BUT! Gun powder residue and blood splatter is completely counterintuitive—even though someone tried their little heart out," Abby Sciuto, rapidly going through photos of evidence, happily delivered a report to her favorite NCIS agent. "Of course, seen in light of that little discrepancy and what I found on Mrs. Croswell's computer, it's highly unlikely it _was_ suicide."

Abby stopped and looked at the graying agent primly, two pigtails dancing on either side of her head.

"What did you find, Abby?" prompted Gibbs, lifting an eyebrow in a patronizing way.

"I will tell you what I found right after you tell me where you went on your secret mission," she answered swiftly, folding her arms and grinning triumphantly.

Gibbs gave her a small smirk, and narrowed his eyes.

"Nice try," he said gruffly, pointing at the computer screen. "What do you got?" he asked.

"A serious case of Curiosity," she whispered back, lifting an eyebrow.

This time, his look was less pleasant. He indicated the computer firmly with his head.

"Abs," he reprimanded gently.

"You absolutely cannot blame me for trying, Gibbs!" she answered cheerily, whirling around. "I thought you might 'fess up to your sneaky doings if I dangled bait—I learned that from _you_—"

Cutting Abby off mid-sentence, Gibbs' cell phone gave a shrill ring. He glanced at the caller ID screen, did a double take, and after a quick pause, held up a finger to indicate to Abby that she should hold on a moment.

He turned away and opened his cell, striding off to a more remote corner of Abby's lab.

"Gibbs," he neutrally answered the call. It had been about a week and a half since he had heard from her, and he had made a promise to himself never to ignore a call from her, just in case.

"Jethro, do you have a minute?" she asked without much adieu. She sounded worn out. He straightened a little, nearly able to feel Abby's interested, piercing stare.

"Are you okay?" he asked by way of answer, trying to determine if this could wait or if he needed to make up an excuse for Abby.

"Yes," she reassured. "I managed to find a minute to myself," she added.

Once he felt sure she was telling the truth, Gibbs cleared his throat, glancing at his watch. It was nearing eight o'clock in Israel, and his time was running out on this case.

"It isn't a good time, Jenny," he said shortly, though not in a dismissive way. "Can it wait?"

"It isn't pressing," she responded mildly. "I thought we might discuss some," she paused. "Technicalities," was the word she decided on.

Gibbs snorted. He lowered his voice even more, asked if she could call him in the morning.

"No promises," she muttered. "I have to listen in on a spy call for an Op around three a.m.," she said. "You think you can call back?"

He calculated the time swiftly in his head. It would be about nineteen hundred here. He answered in the affirmative, and she hung up. It bothered him that she sounded so exhausted; he knew that stretched thin, overworked tone.

He felt the sudden need to fly back to Israel.

He snapped his phone shut and strolled back over to Abby, as if nothing had happened.

"Want to share with the class?" Abby asked, cocking her head fetchingly.

Gibbs gave her an indulgent yet final look.

"Abby, what have you got?" he asked pointedly.

She sighed, smiled, and—since there seemed to be no hope, and DiNozzo was out of luck in his mission to find out Gibbs' whereabouts through her—she told him.

* * *

><p>The case reached a screeching halt at six o'clock; they had what they needed, but it was an inconvenient time to drag their suspect in for questioning, so Gibbs had ordered DiNozzo to work early in the morning to better catch her off guard.<p>

The junior agent was leaping around with poorly constrained joy at the idea of being able to leave the building before seven. Resolutely ignoring the younger man's antics, Gibbs was keeping a sharp eye on his clock, the necessary codes and contact information for Jenny locked securely in his desk drawer.

"You need anything else, Boss?" DiNozzo chirped hastily, as if he didn't really care, and was afraid to ask.

Gibbs looked across the bullpen at him, studying the former Baltimore cop silently. He contemplated giving him a hard time, but dismissed the idea.

"Go home, DiNozzo," he said instead, giving him a nod.

A wide grin spread across DiNozzo's face, and he hoisted his backpack over his shoulder, affording Gibbs a half-assed sort of salute as he bounded towards the elevator. Someone would think Gibbs _enslaved_ him or something.

In the silence and relative solitude that was left, Gibbs looked around at the four desks comprising his bullpen. DiNozzo had taken the desk that had once been Stan Burley's. Two other desks stood empty; one had never been occupied, one had belonged to Jenny for a short training period pre-Europe.

Gibbs turned, eyeing that desk sharply, as if he could see the redhead lounging in the chair with a high-heeled foot propped on the edge and a book hiding her face. He thought of the ultrasound picture tucked in his wallet.

He still had the distinct feeling that there was a veil of surrealism shrouding this situation.

His instincts drove him to feel protective of her, even with her miles away; they drove him to care for her in a primal way, and worry for her. But in his head he was still smarting from the way she had left. He was still angry; and in the back of his mind, he wanted her to hurt.

It was more conflicted than he'd felt over a woman in a long time.

The thought of having another child affected him adversely as well. He had never gone that direction with his ex-wives. He had refused to consider it. He didn't think he could tolerate again the kind if debilitating suffering that had come with losing Kelly.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes. He thought of the obstacles, of the frustrations, and of all of the things that were so wrong with not only his and Jenny's relationship, but their situation. This was not the environment babies were supposed to be born into.

And he had an hour until Jenny's appointed safe time to call to think about it.

"Shalom."

The answer was quick and alert. Her voice sounded much brighter; less worn. For that, he was relieved.

"It's me."

"I know," came the reply, a little primly. "It is exactly three a.m.," she said pointedly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Gibbs asked shortly, affronted.

"You never were one to waste time," she responded. He could see her tilt her head and shrug her shoulders. "You are predictable."

"I can call back in seven minutes," he retorted sarcastically.

Jenny laughed.

"It's too late to change your ways," she lamented. She paused briefly. "Damn, we're good at small talk," she sighed. There was a hint of bitterness to her voice.

He chose not to respond to that, as the comment that occurred was unkind. He was in no mood to start a fight, and currently had no reason to.

"You sound better," he said neutrally.

"Meaning…?" Jenny asked uncertainly.

"Sounded exhausted when you called," he said.

"I was tired," she muttered. "I'd been up forty hours straight," she enlightened him.

"Jen," he growled reactively. That was unhealthy in a _not_-pregnant state.

"Drop the protective act, Jethro," she said shortly. "I can take care of myself. It irks me to remind you of that."

"It's not _you_ I'm protective of," he snapped back. It may have been rude, even uncalled for, but it's what came out of his mouth. There was silence on the other line.

"Fair enough," she said slowly, her voice quieter. "I wasn't thinking," she had barely finished her sentence when he cut in.

"Well, you better _think_, Jenny," he growled.

He sensed she was biting back a heated comment, due to the tense sigh he heard on the other end of the line.

"Why did you call?" he asked tightly, frustration with the way this was going evident in his voice.

"I called to let you know my appointment went well," she answered quietly. "Baby's healthy. No sign of Down syndrome," she stated hesitantly.

Gibbs leaned forward on his desk and rubbed his head, a muscle in his jaw contracting tensely. He nodded to himself, pressing the phone closer to his ear. Just another thing he hadn't thought about.

"Good," he said sincerely. "You're okay?" he asked courteously, for what seemed to be the tenth time today. Maybe it just felt that way because he had a chronic sense of concern for her nestled in the back of his mind.

"The test scared me," she said out of the blue. He was surprised. Jenny admitting to fear up front was a rare occurrence indeed. Her voice sounded a little unsteady.

"You ask for it?"

"The obstetrician asked if I wanted it," she answered. "You know me."

He did. Practical Jenny; wanted to know all the details, be prepared for everything and anything.

"It doesn't have to scare you now," he pointed out logically, attempting to avoid any subject that was going to put her on the defensive, and feeling fear usually did. "You need to tell me anything else?" Gibbs prompted.

He didn't want her to think there was any room to be hiding things now. He didn't particularly suspect she was, but he wanted it clear that he'd push if he at any pointed sensed she might be.

"My breasts are bigger," she remarked bluntly.

Gibbs raised his eyebrows. He glanced around him as if someone might be listening, before remembering it was 'quittin' time' at NCIS.

"Hmmm," he said, or rather, muttered, trying very hard to sound as uninterested as possible. He might be mad at her, but hell, he still liked her breasts.

"You asked," she said pointedly. "If something is wrong, I'll tell you, Jethro," she added, obviously sharp enough to catch the veiled meaning behind his question.

"I'll hold you to that."

"I know," she said. "Damn, hold on," she said suddenly. The phone collided with something, he heard it. Muffled, he heard a sharp bark of foreign language—Hebrew, he figured. He had a hard time distinguishing Semitic languages.

"Forgive me," she requested a moment later.

"What happened?" he asked suspiciously.

"It's need to know."

"_Jen_—"

"Oh, you know better than to ask," she interrupted curtly.

"Fair enough," Gibbs responded in a low growl. He sat back in his chair, his eyes on the swirly screensaver that had settled in on his computer. Barely visible across the building, he could see the janitor slowly making his rounds.

"I told Ducky," he said after a brief silence. He hadn't told her that over their last, short phone call.

"Did you?" she asked. "Was that fun?"

"He pretended he didn't know we were sleeping together in Europe," Gibbs answered with a roll of his eyes.

Jenny laughed brusquely.

"Well, tell him I appreciate his tact in turning a blind eye," she said. She was smiling; Gibbs couldn't see it. He smiled himself though, still surprised Ducky had, even at the revelation of a pregnancy, opted to pretend he had been ignorant.

"Jenny," Gibbs began, catching her attention in a more serious tone. "We've gotta talk about money," he said a little coarsely. There really was no other way to say it, and as she'd said she was settled down for a mission—and he had nowhere to be—now was a good time to do it. The earlier the better.

"Money isn't a topic to be discussed in polite society," she quipped drily.

"You think I'm _polite_?" Gibbs asked pointedly. Jenny snorted.

"I'm not asking for money, Jethro," she said airily. "My finances are okay. I can take care of expenses."

"I don't think you realize how many _expenses_ there are," he said shortly. He sensed she was trying to avoid the subject because it was awkward and sticky to talk about.

His comment was a distinct reminder to her that he had done this before, and she swallowed hard, hesitating on her side of the line.

"You're not paying for everything yourself," he said matter-of-factly.

"I don't make what I used to," she said carefully. "And I happen to get a paycheck from Mossad as well. I'm not in dire straits; there isn't anything to worry about."

"Jen," he growled, anger flaring up in his mind and words. "That isn't how it works. I don't give a damn if you're capable of supporting the baby; you're not doing it alone."

"You shouldn't have to support me, Jethro, we're not married—we're not even _together_—"

_Yeah, bring that up, Jenny_, he thought bitterly.

"Don't give me that," he snapped quietly. "It's my responsibility."

"Your chauvinism is showing," Jenny fired back sharply.

"Jen, this isn't about being an alpha male! It's about being a father," he barked, lowering his voice instantly, unaware he'd burst out as he had. He clenched his jaw and folded his fingers into a fist. "You're gonna need a supplemented income, I don't care _how_ much you make," he snapped.

He paused, and she didn't say anything. He waited a few seconds to see if she had any biting comeback, but she just sighed heavily, and he went on, reigning in his anger.

"You need to tell me what's the best way to deal with finances," he said forcefully.

After another moment, she spoke:

"I will open a Swiss bank account," she capitulated. "I cannot access my American accounts while working for Mossad, and it would be compromising and dangerous for you to wire money to my Israeli accounts," she explained. "Zurich has the most protected system in the world."

Gibbs nodded shortly, and then remembered she couldn't see him.

"Fine. Was that so hard, Jen?" he asked.

"Yes, Jethro, it makes me uncomfortable," she snapped, lashing out honestly.

"The martyr act stops now," he informed her. He didn't think he could take the self-sacrificing bull much longer. "You've gotta stop humbling yourself because you feel guilty or somethin'," he growled. "You ended it. You've gotta face me anyway. Tough luck."

"Tell me how you really feel," she said caustically. She grunted in frustration and he could only imagine her conflicted facial expression, but he damn well meant what he said. They were going to get nothing done if she was afraid to make demands and fight with him on what their plan was.

Not to mention he liked her better when she was _herself_.

"This is worse for me," he attacked bitterly. She just felt guilty, and she damn well should. He was still trying to recover from the havoc she'd wreaked on him, and on top of that—there was this.

"Oh really, Jethro? There is a fetus fucking with_ your_ hormones?" she fired back smartly.

Now _that_ sounded like Jenny.

His eyebrows went up. He snorted, and leaned back in his chair.

"I'll give you that," he drawled neutrally.

She laughed softly, and he heard the sound of electronic beeping.

"You getting enough sleep, Jen?" he asked suddenly, remembering that he was curious why the hell she was able to talk at three a.m. Israeli time.

"Hmm? Yeah," she answered, perking up a little. "I slept nearly all day. Been working nights lately. Covert surveillance."

"Anything good?"

"What's your Mossad security clearance again?" she asked pointedly.

Gibbs grunted unhappily. He didn't like being in the dark about her work. He was used to _giving_ her highly classified work.

"Morning sickness?"

"Eh, nothing to write home about," she answered blithely. "Mostly I just feel nauseous."

The conversation was clearly drawing to a close. It was difficult for them to do much more than necessary communication or useless, short banter. They were much too busy attempting to avoid real subjects.

Jenny cleared her throat hesitantly.

"Jethro," she began cautiously. "Mind if I ask you something?"

"Hmm?" he gave her the cue to continue, not quite sure what to expect.

"When was Kelly born?"

He felt the same way he always did when someone unexpectedly brought Kelly up. Angry, overwhelmed, hollow, and just…_heavy_. He tilted his head, the muscles in his neck tense, and set his jaw.

"January third, nineteen eighty-four," he answered guardedly. "Why?" he asked shortly, when she didn't say anything. He felt like he was on the offensive. He didn't want to talk about Kelly.

"I," she paused. "I'm curious, Jethro," she said finally, honestly. She sighed quietly, and he tried to understand. She must still be reeling from learning about Shannon and Kelly in the first place.

"Yeah," he muttered, suspiciously—emptily. "I've got incident reports to finish up, Jen," he said gruffly, cutting the conversation short. He was suddenly struck by the desire to be rid of her, and a distinct pang of longing that brought Kelly's smiling blue eyes to his mind.

"You should remember to sleep, too, Jethro," she warned softly, clearly aware he was, in a way, blowing her off. They hadn't much else to talk about, anyway.

"I sleep," he assured her dismissively.

"I'll give you another call in a week or so," she offered, giving up a time frame. He replied gruffly, acknowledging, considering telling her to take care of herself. He didn't. She said goodbye formally, and she hung up.

He snapped his phone shut and threw it on his desk loudly.

And for a long time, he stared at the empty desk that used to be hers.

* * *

><p>There were rare moments available for leisure when it came to Mossad officers and their operations, and she now spent most of them in solitude, or making strained phone calls to her stateside ex-lover.<p>

But it was currently three in the morning in Washington, DC, and it was a lazy eleven o'clock in Tel Aviv. Operatives were confined to the building, a directive that resulted in short tempers due to the balmy weather they were missing outside, and Jenny Shepard—tired of dwelling—joined the David trio in one of the lounges.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, and though they were forbidden from opening it, it was nice.

The lounge consisted of much with which its occupants could amuse themselves to pass the time, from ping pong, to billiards, to board games, video players, and the latest in high tech computer games.

Jenny had agreed to a game of pool against Haswari, an activity that Ziva prowled around supervising with her sharp eye. All the entertainment the redhead really needed, though, was to curl up in a chair and watch the antics of Tali David.

The younger girl had shoved the ping pong table up against the wall and was single-handedly batting a little white ball against the wall, her eyes glued to a thick, opened textbook on North African culture.

Ziva had rolled her eyes and remarked that it was how Tali trained herself to multi-task, but she had warned Jenny not to interrupt her unexpectedly unless she wanted to end up on the floor.

The really impressive thing, though, was Tali's ability carry on a conversation in her optimistic way even while studying and batting the ping pong ball.

Taking her turn, Jenny bent over the billiards table with a critical eye, lining up the perfect shot. She was tailing Haswari's game by a ball or two, and it was bugging her.

"Do you have a name for that baby yet, Jenny?" Tali chirped brightly.

Mid-shot, Jenny was caught off guard. She missed her shot.

She glared over her shoulder at the teenager, whilst Haswari let out a snicker of approval.

"Tali, that was unfair," Ziva reprimanded, folding her arms. The older female David leaned against the side of the ping pong table.

Tali giggled and shrugged, not even missing a beat in her game with herself.

"Blood is thicker than water, Zee," she said happily. "Sorry Jenny, someone must be on Ari's side."

"It is always you, little Tali," Haswari said, bending over smugly to take his shot.

Jenny straightened and leaned against the pool stick, watching. She looked over at Ziva, meeting her partner's eyes, and Ziva arched an eyebrow. Jenny tilted her head, shaking her hair all to one side with a sigh.

Tali was baby crazy.

"It was a sincere question though," Tali piped up, giving the ping pong ball a hearty _whack_. "Names are essential for children, you know. You cannot simply keep calling it… '_it'_."

"I think 'it' is endearing," Jenny retorted sarcastically.

Ziva smirked.

The redhead looked over as she heard the click of Haswari sinking another shot. She narrowed her eyes at his look of gloating and watched him set up another shot.

"You should pick a Hebrew name," Tali suggested sweetly.

"Why's that?" Jenny patronized absently.

"Hebrew names are strong," Tali responded promptly. "They have God's hand on them."

Jenny looked over thoughtfully. Tali grinned, aware she was being watched. Jenny studied the girl for a moment before glancing at Ziva, her own green eyes suddenly pensive, considering what Tali had said.

It struck a chord in her.

Ziva shrugged.

"God's hand is sometimes needed in Israel," she remarked, but Jenny could not quite tell if the statement was flippant, mocking, or sincere. It was just a mysterious Ziva statement.

"It is your play, Shepard," Haswari said gracefully, stepping back to lord his skills over her as she eyed the table for her next shot. She prowled around, her eye on the dark purple ball.

"You cannot use Abram or Shaul, of course," Tali announced conversationally. "I claimed them when I was five. But Adam is nice. So is Benjamin. Should it be a girl," Tali paused. "Well, I am partial to _Tali_."

Jenny laughed shortly, firing her shot off; sinking the purple ball into a pocket. She allowed a smirk of triumph to grace her lips, and sashayed around for her next shot, shooting Haswari a look through her eyelashes.

He looked sour; she was catching up.

She paused, tilting her head.

Truth be told, she had a name in mind—though she routinely kept pushing necessities like that out of her thought process. She was still struggling with denial. It was unhealthy.

"What is the origin of 'Jasper'?" she asked neutrally.

She felt a flare of the familiar old hurt and anger as she said her father's name.

Tali didn't answer right away, and Jenny glanced over at her.

"It is Persian," Ziva supplied quietly.

"Ah," Jenny said. A name of Iranian origin might not be the best choice when one lived and operated within Israel.

"Hebrew or Persian, I do not see the point in obsessing over a name for the little bastard," Haswari remarked. It was a cold insult masked in a blithe tone.

The redhead felt the comment like a slap in the face. It smarted for its boldness, but it triggered something else—she felt angry; protective. She swore she'd never felt anything like this sudden rush to hurt him before, but it resulted in a harsh reaction.

Jenny's eyes snapped to his, chips of frozen emerald in a pale face suddenly.

"If that isn't the pot calling the kettle black," she growled.

Tali's ping pong ceased. A pin could have been heard to drop in the room.

"I am afraid I do not understand the colloquialism," Haswari said arrogantly.

"I do not believe your father married your Arab mother, Haswari," Jenny lashed out.

The black, black look in his eye was enough to tell her she had made a grave mistake—not only in bringing up his mother, but in referencing her ethnicity and Eli David's failure to respect her honor.

"Comments like that are apt to get you killed, American," spat Haswari inhospitably.

Jenny violently threw the pool stick she held onto the table, scattering the lined up balls. Haswari didn't flinch. Her eyes narrowed. She felt like crying; she wanted to draw her nails across his insufferable face.

"Do not utter the word 'bastard' in my presence again or you will not live to speak the word again," she threatened sharply.

She left the room, and she left Ziva staring intently at her brother, and Tali standing with a meek, upset look on her face.

"Ari," the youngest whispered imploringly, her eyes soft and pleading. "Ari, you provoke her so."

"She is dangerous," Haswari snarled.

He was the next gone, like a threatened lion stealing away from his mutinous pack.

* * *

><p>It felt a little strange to be so comfortably sitting at Jenny's kitchen table, papers spread in front of him, coffee in hand, with her busy somewhere across a vast ocean.<p>

Well. He might not be comfortable, but he didn't quite feel out of place either.

It was early morning, before work. His car was in the drive, he was dressed for a case should the call come in, but he had made a stop here before showing up at the office at his usual ungodly hour of six a.m.

Noemi was bustling about. It was her day to dust the nooks of the house, and Gibbs had the distinct feel she was keeping an eye on him, as well. The housekeeper was kind, but protective of Jenny's privacy.

To his chagrin, Gibbs had been booted out of the study once.

It seemed he was confined to the kitchen.

The papers spread before him were financial files from the account in Switzerland Jenny had opened, true to her word. They had arrived in the mail yesterday, and Noemi had given him a call.

He memorized the number, noted that he and Jenny were the only two with access to the account. Jenny's name was not on the account, but she had scrawled a note that let him know the Swiss knew her face and real name; it was simply unsafe to have an account traceable to her.

Gibbs was beginning to think her work was ten times as volatile as he had first suspected.

The account was in his name, listed as L. Jethro Gibbs, and pinpointed his primary location as 'Paris, France'. He did not know whether to think it was nostalgically clever of Jenny, or just mocking.

He did doubt she was purposely trying to drive the knife in deeper, though.

He had a stack of papers to sign to finalize the transactions; Jenny had already deposited a considerable amount in the account, and he had decided on his own to match it.

It occurred to him that they ought to discuss adding an arbiter to the bank account, in case there were some emergency. Considering the high risk nature of both their jobs, a safety net would be ideal.

And when it came to family this time around, Gibbs found himself hypersensitive to things that could go wrong.

_This time around_.

Stonily looking over the documents, he tried not to think about how different _this_ time was from _last_ time. Aside from the fact that he was seventeen years older and Jenny was far from Shannon, things were so different.

He remembered when he and Shannon's lives had been focused on preparing for Kelly—making sure the house was safe, spending hours ruling out names as the suggestions got sillier and sillier…the general excitement and nerves that had charged both of their emotions. They had _wanted_ Kelly, before they even knew she was a 'Kelly'.

But this situation with Jenny…it presented a map of uncharted waters, and spawned a slew of indecipherable feelings. He was bitter towards Jenny, he wanted to shut her out, and he couldn't do that now.

He was thousands of miles away, and all he had to anchor him to the situation was an ultrasound picture, these bank statements, and some periodic, strained phone calls. Her condition was veiled in secrecy, and he was struggling with how he felt about her having his baby when their relationship was this fractured and unhealthy, and he couldn't be there—and it physically sickened him to think he might have to feel the pain of losing Kelly again.

There were reasons he had never had—never even thought—of children with his other wives.

Gibbs reached up and rubbed his forehead, downing the rest of his cold coffee and leaning back heavily. He glared at the papers malevolently, his muscles aching. He had been sleeping with the boat lately, when he slept at all.

His focus on work, when they had cases, had become intense to the point that DiNozzo treaded as if on thin, thin, ice, and Abby just worried—and hugged.

And Ducky; Ducky quietly and calmly asked questions.

Gibbs shoved away from the table and stood up, dumping his-no, Jenny's-mug in the sink. He marched out of the kitchen, peering towards the study for Noemi.

"Noemi?" he called shortly.

"Senor Gibbs?" she responded, muffled. He heard a door open, and she bustled half-way down the stairs.

Gibbs swallowed, setting his jaw with a masked expression.

"Jenny have any empty rooms?" he asked.

Noemi gave him an inquiring look.

"Only her old room, Senor," she answered.

"She sleeps in the master?"

"_Si_, Senor, for years now," answered the housekeeper. She titled her head curiously.

Gibbs nodded.

He stood in the hall, glancing past Noemi up the stairs. He thought about a nursery, but it occurred to him he had no idea if Jenny would be back stateside for years. The thought was daunting. He nodded again, and pulled out his phone.

He hit speed dial one, and her name came up, waiting for him to punch the order to call.

In his moment of hesitation, the screen changed, and his phone rang.

"Gibbs," he answered gruffly, before it had stopped ringing the first time.

"BOSS!" shouted DiNozzo. He sounded much too enthusiastic. "A Navy Lesbian killed her lover's husband in a strip club!" Well, that explained the enthusiasm.

Abruptly, Gibbs barked an order at DiNozzo. He excused himself, and left for work, hastily sweeping up the financial documents and folding them into his jacket pocket.

* * *

><p>She was one of the few who had a clearance level high enough to allow her to wait unsupervised in the office of the Mossad Director. When one achieved significant clearance in both American and Israeli black ops, that was saying something.<p>

She did not have to wait long—vetted or not, David did not like people left alone in his office; he wouldn't allow Jenny, if it weren't for the fact that she refused to sit in a chair outside and be guarded by the cold member of the IDF.

"Agent Shepard," Director David greeted in his deep, suave voice as he shut his office door with barely a sound. Predictably, he marched around to his desk chair, perched reading glasses on his nose, and sat down, interlacing his fingers in front of him.

Jenny smiled carefully and sat down, relaxing back, in the chair in front of his desk, leaving off her perusal of his displayed collection of artifacts.

"You see something you covet?" he asked, gesturing at the objects.

"Just admiring," she responded without looking. She rested her arms on the chair and tilted her head. David knew why she was here; it was a concern that was slightly less than 'important', though necessary, and she felt it a nuisance to have to bring it up.

But, it being a necessity and all…

"You cause me a distinct amount of trouble, Jenny," remarked Eli. It was said in a way that was not quite serious, but not to be mistaken for jest.

Jenny lifted one shoulder in a shrug, holding up her palm airily.

"It is not a request made out of frivolity, Eli," she responded sweetly. "It occurred to me as I walked from my bedroom to my parlor that I do not actually have anywhere to put a baby."

David smirked, glancing down at the files he had on his desk. He nodded, and opened one, his eyes running expertly over the page.

"Your assessment is valid," he murmured. "And you are lucky the Mossad still views you as an irreplaceable asset," he added, glancing up through his eyelashes.

He fell silent for a moment, his lips pursing tensely, as he continued to look over some things.

"I will be moving you to a room on the second level," he announced matter-of-factly. "It has in the past been used as a safe room and surveillance operation area for three-man teams, and so there should be ample room. It will be swept, and re-fortified according to procedure," he looked up at her, shutting the folder he was looking in.

He looked at her for a moment.

"I estimate it being prepared for you within two weeks, at the latest," he said.

Jenny nodded, a wry smile crossing her lips.

"I suppose in the meantime I can shop and baby proof and do other," she waved her hand as if looking for the word, "maternal _things_."

Eli laughed heartily, leaning back.

"Ah, Jenny, I do not know if there is a maternal bone in your body," he mused. She had never actually seen David's eyes _twinkle_ before.

The redhead blinked, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully.

"Well," she responded dryly. "That bodes well for my future." Her comment was sarcastic. She arched an eyebrow.

Eli studied her for a moment. He leaned forward, his demeanor changing. Jenny had an idea she knew what was coming, and he did not disappoint her in getting straight to the point.

"This rivalry between you and Ari—"

"Let me interrupt," Jenny interrupted bluntly. "Am I about to receive a speech from his father or his boss?"

Eli looked at her, somewhat impressed, but clearly displeased at having been cut short by a subordinate—and a female one, at that. Jenny was no fool; she knew David was from an era in which women were subservient.

"His boss," Eli decided sharply. "I am aware that Ari delights in poking sleeping bears," Elis smiled somewhat at the euphemism, but went on firmly, "but it does not reflect well on you to retaliate." He held up a hand as he saw Jenny's eyes flash. "I have spoken with him already on this matter. "I have asked him to bridle his rancor. You know as I do that Ari distrusts outsiders, allies or not. You in turn must present the other cheek," David looked at her pointedly. "Any professional disputes are to be brought directly to me. Is this understood?"

"It is understood," Jenny answered promptly, tilting her head. She reached up and ran a finger over her lip thoughtfully, staring at her acting boss. She still harbored anger towards Haswari for the stunt he'd pulled that almost blew her cover weeks ago.

"Eli," she said after a moment. "The less I am required to work in close quarters with him, the better," she said simply.

"That I am aware of," Eli answered, rolling his eyes slightly. "It is something you will not have to concern yourself with before long. Assignments are being shuffled around in the near future."

Jenny nodded. She stood up, ready to end the meeting herself. She planned to prowl around the second level and take a quick inspection of her new quarters. She felt she knew what room he was talking about.

She had a linguistics operation to complete in about an hour, and she was sifting through her schedule in her mind to try and find time to sleep, and to take a run.

Director David relaxed visibly, picking up a pen. That action served to dismiss her; he was getting to work, and thus she was free to leave.

"Ah, Jenny," he called, just as she was starting to leave. She paused, glancing over her shoulder. He looked up, raising his eyebrows. "When will we see your Agent Gibbs again?"

Jenny studied him for a moment, then gave him a small smirk and turned around.

She shrugged.

"Jethro shows up when it's least convenient."

* * *

><p>It was after midnight.<p>

He couldn't sleep. The house was too quiet, too empty. The case they had caught and been swamped with over the past few days had taken a hell of a toll.

Gibbs hadn't ever seen Abby break down and cry, but she had sometime yesterday, and he'd sent her home, leaving them shorthanded. At one point, he'd thought DiNozzo was going to cry.

But it was over, and they were recovering. In a move of uncharacteristic consideration, he had ordered them both to stay home tomorrow.

There was no doubt, though, that he would be at his desk in four hours, working. He always was.

A few days ago, he had signed off on Jenny's financial forms, matched her bank deposit, and mailed the documents off to her. He had been deflecting questions from Ducky and Noemi about all kinds of different things, because he did not know the answers.

It had been almost five weeks since he'd left Israel. The phone calls between he and Jenny were getting less tense, but they were no more frequent. They both had demanding jobs to attend to. He didn't _have_ answers for many of the inquiries he was getting.

Gibbs had abandoned his boat, and his basement.

Mason jar of bourbon in hand, he was prowling around his empty, unfurnished house, eyeing everything critically. He had not touched a thing after Shannon and Kelly had died, but he had not done much to keep things in order, either.

The house lacked a woman's touch—hell, it lacked a human touch. He slept on his couch, his bedroom was full of boxed up stuff; things that he couldn't face, things that his wives had never taken with them.

It was a dreary place. It was cold, and he never used the fireplace anymore. The sockets were uncovered and dangerous. There were tools everywhere. Cold floors.

He raised his eyes to the ceiling and his mouth turned up in a smile a little, because he was thinking of the massive heart attack Shannon would have if she saw this place. It wasn't child safe.

He would never let his daughter inside this house, as it stood now.

"I'm sorry, honey," he muttered to Shannon, shaking his head. He'd have slept on the floor for a week if she knew the only clean part of her beloved house was the boat.

Gibbs set his jaw and stormed into the parlor. He was restless, and this seemed like the right thing to do. Something to help the reality of what was happening sink in. He started to clean up.

It had been part of the process the first time; buying baby clothes, putting up furniture, picking names, painting the room. He didn't have that this time. He had an empty, uninhabitable house and a woman halfway across the world.

He made it his project, then, to fix up his house. Jenny would hardly be oversees forever, and he'd be damned if he'd let his house be unsafe if there would be little feet running around in it again.

He began with the living room. He cleaned out the shamelessly neglected fireplace, inhaling black soot, dust, and the aroma of a few dead birds. He started small; he made a bigger mess in beginning the process.

But it was a process, and it was clearing his head.

He came to a stop, wiping sweat from his brow and shaking black dust from his hair. He had to get clean before work, lest his colleagues being asking more questions than they were already prone to.

He abandoned the tool belt he had on and stumbled towards the bathroom, a rush of exhaustion hitting him suddenly. That reminded him he'd need coffee to keep alert through the day.

He paused before entering the master bedroom to access the bathroom that had been barren for so many years, his eyes caught on Kelly's old bedroom. The door was tightly shut. It was full of her boxed up things.

Storage. He had offhandedly said it was storage to his ex-wives, unwilling to tell the story. It was how his first wife had found out—when he'd muttered something about having china in storage. He'd meant the attic, she'd thought he meant the room he'd _called_ storage.

He walked slowly away from the door and opened hers. He did it sharply and quickly, before he could lose his nerve. It was amazing the effect one room could have.

The only things in the room that suggested it had ever been a little girl's room was the light pink, white trimmed walls and the white bed frame that stood hidden partially by boxes. Peeking out of one box was an old Halloween costume.

Gibbs set his jaw. He sat down just inside the room, below the light switch. The thought of going through her things was daunting. He reached slowly for his phone, checking the time. It was six a.m. Two in the afternoon in Israel.

He figured he might try.

Jenny's last appointment had been around twenty four weeks, she should know. He swallowed, punching in her number, and holding the phone to his ear. There were things in this room he couldn't bear to get rid of, and he did not want them to go to waste.

* * *

><p>Mossad Complex was eerily quiet. An unusual multitude of agents were deployed on foreign operative missions at the moment, and as she was barred from active duty—so to speak—Jenny Shepard was left in peace.<p>

She knew that two female Preliminary agents were still in residence, as well as Tali—who was restricted to schooling with her father this week. The techies were all in, and a mole from the crumbling infrastructure of the KGB was prowling somewhere.

Just a typical day in Israel.

Ziva was in the Sudan handling an operation for Ari, and Jenny had nothing to do for two days. She spent her time intently studying her Hebrew, practicing inflection and accent, as well as improving on her reading of Arabic.

Flawlessness in both was necessary in this region.

Her phone interrupted the nice silence she had been appreciating. She shoved her chair back with her foot, and then winced—she kept forgetting her feet were hurting her like hell, and she'd already taken off her heels.

She did not bother to look at the caller ID, this phone was specifically for dealing with her little love accident, as she sometimes referred to it.

"_Boker_ _tov,_" she greeted in Hebrew. "Late start this morning, Jethro?" she asked mildly, noting from her clock that it was about six in Washington DC.

"Had a late night," he returned dryly. Was it ever anything else with Jethro?

Jenny got up, giving herself a break. She stretched, wincing yet again and pausing, leaning on her desk. Her abdomen was aching. It had been bothering her for days. She had called her physician; he called it normal. She begged to differ.

"Busy, Jen?" he asked.

"No," she answered thoughtfully. "Of course, now that I have admitted to that, something is going to explode." She thought of Tali's intense belief in 'jinxing' things. "God forbid," Jenny added hastily.

She sighed, brushing her hair out of her face. She had it loose, and she liked it. She rarely wore it loose these days. She was kind of pleased with it, actually. It looked all shiny. Hormones, the gyno said.

"Jenny, is the baby a boy or a girl?" Jethro asked bluntly.

Jenny paused and tilted her head, caught off guard by the question. She lifted her eyebrows.

"I don't know," she answered shortly. The question frustrated her. It was the investigator in Jethro that made him ask questions she couldn't possibly know the answer to.

"You don't know," repeated Jethro slowly. He sounded like he didn't believe her.

"Hold on. Let me ask it with my telepathic abilities," she deadpanned.

She almost heard him roll his eyes.

"Jen," he growled warningly. Then, "Didn't the doctor tell you?"

It suddenly clicked. She _was_ supposed to know if it was a boy or a girl. Tali kept asking about it. Jenny kept ignoring the question. It was keeping her sane right now to continue to referring to it as…well, _it_.

"Oh," she said softly. "He asked if," she broke off. "He asked if I wanted to know," she said finally, walking over to her computer.

She locked down the programs she was using. She suddenly felt as if she wouldn't want to go back to them after this.

Jethro didn't say anything, so she filled the heavy silence with her own words.

"I told him not to tell me," she said honestly.

He made a noise she couldn't decipher.

"You like to know things, Jenny," he pointed out, a roundabout way of asking why she'd for once in her life forgone being told a detail.

She shrugged. She realized he couldn't see that, and answered slowly, looking at herself in the mirror that hung over her desk.

"Not this," she said sincerely. "If I was supposed to know, then I would know. Science takes the _fun_ out of it," she said, though her use of the word fun was in its broadest definition.

She knew women who'd determined the sex and then picked out full names, planned the kid's life—he'd be a football player and a Jets fan, or she'd be a beauty queen with a love of pink.

That had irked Jenny.

She bit her lip.

"It doesn't matter, does it?" she asked him.

"No," he answered shortly.

She swallowed, and sat down again, perched on the edge of the chair. Her back was straight, and she winced again at the dull throbbing in her abdomen.

"It will be alright if it's a girl, Jethro?" she asked cautiously, unaware of how he might react. She thought of the daughter he'd told her about. She felt a sudden sense of fear that he might balk if she had a girl.

"Well, yeah, Jen," he answered gruffly. But he'd taken a moment. There had been hesitation, and she did not know what to make of it. Her shoulders slumped a little.

She groaned quietly, wrinkling her brow. Feet _and_ abdomen. Not fair.

"Jenny? You okay?"

"My feet hurt," she answered grumpily. "And my uterus is stretching," she added accusingly.

She ran her hand over her stomach gingerly, feeling what was there. Not much. It bothered her sometimes. She felt like something was wrong. She felt a lot of irrational things lightly. Her eyes drifted to the ultrasound picture tacked on her bulletin board.

"Prop your feet up," Jethro ordered.

She tilted her head, holding the phone.

"You think it will help?"

"It'll help, Jen."

She took his advice, and when she settled back down, she pulled a small notepad towards her, trying to relax. She felt tense when she spoke with him, tense all over, tense all the time.

Her stomach was bothering her. She felt like she had butterflies. She had off and on for a week or two now, fleetingly. The feeling made her catch her breath.

"I wrote a couple names down," she mentioned in an offhanded manner.

He said something under his breath, but she let it go, giving him a look he couldn't see.

"I want 'Jasper'," she ventured. "If it's a boy."

"Jenny," growled Jethro. "That's a _weird_ name."

"Says the man named 'Leroy Jethro'," the redhead fired back indignantly.

He snorted reluctantly. He really had no choice but to agree. He didn't much like the name though.

"Why 'Jasper'?" he asked, saying the name distastefully.

She was a little taken aback at how comfortably he seemed to take something as normal as discussing names.

Normal for most couples, that is.

She considered lying, but she decided against it. He had been honest with her about his family.

"It was my father's name," she said quietly.

He stayed silent.

"I haven't set anything in stone, Jethro," she said mildly "Thought you might want some input."

"I don't care," he said after a moment.

She was offended by that comment, and the strong feeling of offense shocked her for a minute.

"You _should_ care," she said sharply, before she could stop herself.

"Easy," he warned, backing off a little. "I care, Jenny," he amended smartly.

She understood after a moment. She figured he didn't want something like a name to spark a fight between then, and so many things sparked arguments.

She sighed heavily, and then rubbed her forehead.

"Are there any male names you forbid?" she asked, putting sarcastic emphasis on 'forbid'.

"Anthony," he answered darkly. She let out a laugh. His response had been so prompt; she made a mental note to have that one explained later.

"Eli wants to know when he'll see you again," Jenny remarked after a moment, switching topics.

"When I get a chance," he answered tensely. She nodded, biting her lip again. She twisted in her chair at the sound of a sharp ring. The intercom on her wall was ringing; a direct page from inside the complex.

"Duty calls," she said alertly, her demeanor distracted.

He made a noise of understanding.

"Jen, give Ducky a call," Jethro ordered suddenly.

Jenny nodded.

"I'll give you one after next week's appointment," she said absently.

He said goodbye, and suddenly her attention was drawn back to his voice.

"Jethro!" she called sharply, smirking a little.

"What?" he asked sharply, caught off guard. He probably thought something was wrong.

"What about female names? Any you're mortally opposed to?" she asked. She had two written down. She had been thinking a lot about what Tali suggested when it came to Hebrew names.

He seemed to mull it over.

"Just don't name it after one of my ex-wives," he answered grimly.

* * *

><p>NCIS Director Tom Morrow looked over the complete file his lead agent had just turned in. He skimmed it, nodding with approval. He had enough faith in Gibbs to know he didn't have to read the whole damn thing with a critical eye.<p>

"I don't know what we'd do without you, Gibbs," he remarked, laying the file down and leaning back.

Gibbs stood silently for a moment.

"Have a lot less lawsuits on your hands," he said wryly.

Morrow snorted, inclining his head. That _might_ be true.

The Director took a file from the side of his desk and slipped a few papers out of the case file that had just been completed. He stood, coming around his desk and taking up at the conference table.

"Have a seat, Gibbs," he offered, sitting down himself. He opened the file and slipped the papers inside, waiting until Gibbs had taken up a chair. The ex-marine leaned partly against the table, watching Morrow.

"It's about that time, isn't it?" asked the Director, cutting to the chase.

"Flight's in thirty six hours, sir," Gibbs answered gruffly.

"You took a week?"

Gibbs nodded.

"Figured if I went over the Memorial Day holiday DiNozzo wouldn't have too much trouble to get into," stated Gibbs.

Morrow nodded, looking back over to the file. He tapped it with an approving finger.

"Kid's coming along," he commented.

"He's a show-off," said Gibbs shortly. He kept trying to get it into DiNozzo's head that crime scenes weren't sexy adventures. The ex-cop was living in _CSI_ or something.

Morrow laughed, waving his hand.

"We all are, at first," he said a little nostalgically. "We think it's like the movies, until it gets gritty."

"Not me, sir," Gibbs pointed out.

Morrow eyed him for a minute.

Gibbs was a hard worker. He was the only agent here with a solve rate that was higher than his rate of discharging a weapon. He was invaluable. In recent meetings with SecNav and higher up Navy officials, Morrow had faced criticism when the situation with Shepard was discussed.

SecNav, a personal advocate of Jenny's, had all but demanded her dismissal, but Morrow had coaxed him to back down. They needed Shepard where she was. The thing was, this was easier—it wasn't a public sex scandal. It was a hushed affair. Even Gibbs was tight-lipped about it.

"How much time will you need in August?" Morrow asked, remembering Jenny's estimated due date accurately.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.

"That's up to Jenny," he answered slowly. "I'll let you know, sir."

Morrow nodded. He leaned forward, closing DiNozzo's file as he did.

"I've had a few conversations with Eli David to ensure as much transparency as possible. He's aware that your security clearance is one of the highest the US Government offers. Don't let him pull one over on you," Morrow instructed.

Gibbs smirked, shaking his head slightly. The last thing he would allow was Eli David to 'pull one over on him'.

Morrow grinned.

"I'm assigning Chris Pacci to babysit DiNozzo while you're gone," Morrow informed Gibbs. "I'll let the kid be unless something big hits; see how he fares on his own."

Morrow stood up, extending his hand to Gibbs.

"Do you plan on telling DiNozzo you're leaving this time? Damn near had a heart attack last time," he warned.

Gibbs seemed reluctant. His facial expression didn't change.

"I'll give 'im a heads up," he agreed, shaking Morrow's hand firmly.

"You say 'hi' to Jenny for me, Gibbs," he said cordially.

"Yes, sir."

Gibbs turned to leave. At the door, he turned around, giving the Director a warning look.

"Keep DiNozzo away from the women in the evidence locker," he suggested.

Morrow smirked.

"I am starting to wish someone had given me the same advice about you and Shepard."

* * *

><p>He was reluctant to leave without saying something to Abby. He would get an earful when he got back, but he was short on time. He thought it might be smart to pack something this time, and he had to call Jenny and see if she needed anything from her house.<p>

He walked the length from Morrow's office down the stairs to the bullpen quickly, marching over to his computer and shutting things down. He took his Sig Sauer from his desk drawer and holstered it, placing his badge next to it.

DiNozzo half-leapt out of his seat, knocking the thing back into the wall.

"Where we goin', boss?" he asked eagerly, opening his own desk drawer.

"Sit," Gibbs ordered, pointing at DiNozzo's chair.

DiNozzo slowly obeyed, his eyes wide.

"You're not goin' anywhere," he said shortly, going back to messing with his stuff to see if he needed anything else from here. Who was he kidding; his desk was no more personalized than his house was.

He shut his desk drawer, locked it just to drive DiNozzo's curiosity insane, and came around it, marching up to DiNozzo's desk. He glared at the kid darkly.

"I'll be back Friday," he growled.

"Tomorrow?" squeaked DiNozzo.

"_Next_ Friday."

"Where are you going, Boss?" DiNozzo asked.

Gibbs turned on his heel, ignoring the question. He pressed the button for the elevator.

"Is this a test?" DiNozzo asked loudly. He sounded kind of whiny.

Gibbs smirked.

DiNozzo would make a hell of an agent one day.

* * *

><p>There was a considerable difference in his reception this second visit to Israel.<p>

He did not blindly wander in through the front gates. On an armored car drive from the airport, Ziva David had easily detailed the security measures Gibbs was to be read into whilst expertly navigated the crowded, dangerous streets.

Gibbs was impressed with the young woman's driving.

The brunette presented him with a very vague Mossad identification card. It looked basic enough, but she informed him that it was equipped with a number of highly advanced security measures, including an image of his fingerprint that was invisible to his eye.

The scanner would pick it up, she said, as well as scan his retina—he would have to be fitted for a retina scan at headquarters.

"Where'd you get my fingerprint?" he asked gruffly.

"I simply hacked into the NCIS infrastructure and took it from your employee file," Ziva answered bluntly, as if it were an everyday occurrence.

Gibbs glared at her as he got out of the car in a nicely kept little lot and slammed the door. She did not afford him a glance, but he swore he detected a proud little smirk on her face.

"We goin' in the back?" Gibbs asked, following Ziva.

She walked with a confident, lazy sort of posture, her hips swinging fluidly with her movements.

She shot him an amused smile over her shoulder.

"This is the front entrance, Agent Gibbs," she corrected. "You wandered in through the courtyard in March," she informed him primly.

Gibbs gave her a narrow look.

"Did you notice the ecclesiastical nature of the courtyard?" she asked lightly. "Inhabitants of Tel-Aviv see the old church as a nationally protected biblical relic. They are unwitting it houses the Mossad," she educated smoothly. "The rest of the complex, that which is not so visible to the city, is protected by wrought iron fences, under the guise of it being a prison."

Gibbs could understand why that was easily believable as they approached one of the fences she'd mentioned.

Ziva indicated he would not need his credentials this time, as her absolute top clearance meant she could let anyone in at will.

"Church," Gibbs said slowly, earning Ziva's attention. She let them in a side door, into a brilliantly high-ceilinged lobby filled with ancient Middle Eastern artifacts and Jewish cultural tributes.

"Why not synagogue?" he asked a little wryly.

Ziva laughed.

"Our work is much too unsavory to pollute the holy house of Yahweh, Agent Gibbs," she responded somewhat sarcastically, lifting a dark brow.

He smirked. He liked Ziva. He had liked her when he first met her.

She beckoned, and he followed her to the side through a door that opened to a wide, sweeping staircase. His mood darkened a little; he became slightly guarded as he followed her around.

Here he was, in uncharted waters again.

"How's Jenny?" he asked shortly. He had a sense that Ziva might tell him the truth more than Jen herself ever would

"You ask me, why?" she responded, phrasing the question oddly. He noted her accent was heavier sometimes than others.

"Getting a second opinion," he answered bluntly.

Ziva turned, presenting her key card at a door on the second floor. She paused, her palm on the latch as it lit up to unlock. She tilted her head, studying him for a good moment.

"She is quiet," Ziva answered guardedly. "I feel the situation is sinking in."

She opened the door without another word, and they were in a carpeted, furnished hallway.

"Her quarters are at the end of this hall," Ziva announced promptly, indicating.

Gibbs gave her a look, raising an eyebrow. She lowered her hand, acknowledging his unspoken question.

"The Director has transferred her to a suite in for better space accommodation," the Israeli explained. Her reference to her father was cold; impersonal. She clearly put heavy emphasis on being professional.

He nodded in understanding.

Ziva inclined her head respectfully and prowled off, disappearing around a corner noiselessly.

After a moment of staring down the hallway critically, Gibbs strolled casually towards the quarters she had indicated, coming upon a partially opened door.

He set his jaw and pushed the door open a little, rapping two knuckles against it a couple times in a half-assed attempt at knocking.

There were open boxes on the floor. Afternoon sunlight streamed in; the room was warm and smelled fresh. The parlor looked much like the one he'd met Jenny in the last time. It wasn't as personalized. She was moving in.

He heard a small, distant squeak.

"Jen?" he called loudly, announcing himself.

He was met with silence, and then she peered around the doorway from another room. She straightened up and walked out slowly, coming up to meet him in the doorway. She stood in front of him silently, her hair held back with a thin elastic band.

His first thought was that she looked better. That pale, scared look was gone. The determined, focused look in her eyes reminded him of their operations in Paris. He looked her over, forgetting for a moment that it might make her uncomfortable—or be taken the wrong way.

Her feet were bare. So were her legs, but he tried not to think about that. She had on very short shorts and a loose, cotton v-necked shirt. She still looked lithe and fit, but Jenny was small. With a critical eye, even in the loose shirt, when she moved certain ways, he could tell she was pregnant.

She cleared her throat softly.

"Having fun?" she asked mildly.

He smirked.

She tilted her head and chewed her lip, raising an eyebrow slowly.

"What do we do, Jethro?" she asked bluntly. "Do we shake hands? Hug—"

He smiled unexpectedly, though a small one.

Without a word, he stepped closer, wrapping one arm around her shoulders firmly and hugging her gently. He turned his nose against her temple and breathed her in, a brief indulgence. She rested her palm on his arm, pressing her fingers against him gently.

He released her in a polite amount of time and stepped back, peering at her. He still held onto her upper arm lightly.

"You look good, Jen," he remarked.

"You'll understand if I do not believe you," she responded dryly, reaching up and brushing loose strands of hair away from her face. There was a thin sheen of sweat coating her brow. It was heating up by the day in Israel.

He smirked a little.

"You feel okay?"

"No," she answered promptly. "I feel weird, all the time."

He started to question her further, but she suddenly shot him a look that shut him up. He figured she didn't mean she felt sick or hurt, just…other things. Probably female-ish things he didn't want to know about.

The redhead arched an eyebrow at him authoritatively and her hand slipped to her hip. The way she held it bunched up the material of her shirt, and his eyes were drawn to a strip of skin she revealed inadvertently.

"You're just in time to help a compromised girl move some boxes," she said wryly.

A smirk touched her lips. He dropped his one duffle bag on the floor and got to it, relieved there was something to concentrate on other than strictly _her_.

* * *

><p>He watched her survey the room. She stood in the midst of the present emptiness, looking around thoughtfully. She held a glass with a negligible amount of wine in it, and was dressed comfortably in jersey shorts and an old long-sleeved, crewneck US ARMY t-shirt. It did not look like it was her size; it hung loosely.<p>

"What do you think?" she ventured neutrally.

He had spent much of the first day, and the next afternoon, set to work helping Jenny move in to her new quarters and generally irritating the hell out of her by being obnoxiously reluctant to let her move things.

Everything in her room and the parlor and bathroom was set to her satisfaction, and they took up in the only curiously bare room. The sun was setting. Jenny's eyes were drawn to the two wide windows, one with a perch, one without.

"You took the smaller room," he noted, curious.

She shrugged a little.

"This one has windows," she pointed out, nodding towards them. "I thought it would be nice," she remarked.

Gibbs smiled at her slowly. She didn't notice. He cradled the tumbler of bourbon she'd awarded him with for helping in his lap, leaning against the wall. He sat on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him.

He was hot and sweaty. It seemed to be a perpetual state of existence in this damned country.

"It's a good nursery," he said gruffly, giving her the approval she wanted.

She tilted her head thoughtfully, pressing the rim of her glass against her lips gently. She removed her hand from her hip, holding up the pad in it, and walked to sit gracefully against the wall adjacent to his. She placed the pad halfway between them and threw down a pen she had tucked behind her ear.

"Now's the hard part," she said wickedly.

She took a slow sip of the French wine she had poured herself.

He had bristled apprehensively at first sight of the wine bottle, angrily even. Jenny had shot him a warning look and then calmly explained that she only had a small drink ever five days or so, and that it was a widespread, accepted practice in Israel.

Obstetricians in Europe and here waved their hands at dinking after the first trimester, and it calmed her nerves, and helped her sleep.

Gibbs trusted her; he trusted her judgment, and he wasn't going to make the mistake of giving her orders. Jenny was reckless at times, but never when others' lives were concerned. He kept quiet on the subject.

He shifted forward, pulling the notepad towards him a little and narrowing his eyes as he read the few names scrawled down there.

Jasper was still one of them. She had written _Anthony_ and drawn a pointed 'X' through it. He looked at the male names. He was finding it difficult to even look at the female names for the time being.

He took his hand off the notepad, taking a swallow of the bourbon.

"Michael," he said after a minute. He swallowed as if he were thinking it over, and then looked over at her. "Zachary," he added, apparently giving his approval of those two.

Jenny licked her lips. Male names had been so much easier than female names.

"Jen," he began pointedly. "If you want Jasper after your father—"

She shook her head emphatically, cutting him off.

"I will not name it something you hate, you'll resent me," she said frankly.

"It's just a name," he muttered, giving her a brief exasperated look.

"Then I am naming it J. Edgar Hoover," she deadpanned, lifting a brow, challenging his statement.

He gave her a withering look.

"I think '_Oops'_ would be more fitting," he retorted levelly.

She looked impressed.

"Touché," she congratulated, lifting her glass.

She took another sip, leaning her head back against the wall with a sigh. She closed her eyes briefly, swallowed hard, and stretched her neck, opening her eyes and looking at him. She parted her lips, looking frustrated.

"Jethro," she said tersely, "would it bother you if I told you how much I need to have sex with you right now?"

He very nearly spit out the mouthful of bourbon he'd just swallowed, but smoothly managed to hide the fact that he almost had. He lowered the tumbler slowly, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Sounds like its bothering _you_, Jen," he answered pointedly, emphasis on the word 'bothering'.

She smiled sharply, glaring at him.

"That the wine talking?" he asked smugly.

"It's a side-effect of being knocked up," she growled unhappily.

He snorted.

"I remember," he grunted absently under his breath.

She looked over at him alertly, edgy at any reference he made to the family he had lost. She was still processing that, still unsure how to deal with it. She felt so removed from that loss—that part of his life. It wrenched her emotionally when she thought of it; when it came to speaking of it, she did not know what to say, or how to be sensitive.

"What was your daughter's middle name?" Jenny asked casually.

She thought she might test the waters and see how he reacted.

He didn't react. His expression was like stone. He looked down at the drink in his hand without a word.

"Ann," he answered finally.

He looked up and met her eyes. She couldn't read him at all.

"Her name was 'Kelly', Jen," he added a little roughly. "It's okay to say it."

She had been unconsciously avoiding using either Shannon or Kelly's names. She thought it might not hurt as much, but then, that was irrational. The names had nothing to do with the pain.

She made no comment, except:

"Ann," she tried, surprise evident in her voice. "Classy," she remarked with a nod.

She set her glass down next to her leg and pulled the notepad towards her a little more, glancing at the female names she had written down.

"Girl names are frustrating," she said balefully. She looked at the few she'd written down, and the few she'd scratched out in irritation, and then she looked up at him thoughtfully, her hair falling over her eye.

She tossed it back.

"What was your mother's name?"

The corner of his mouth twitched up. She swore there was irony in the little smirk.

"Ann Jane," he answered pointedly.

Ah, well, that explained it.

Jenny smiled softly.

He did not say much else. His mother was another subject he never talked about. He didn't like to talk, and not about her, and not about Shannon and Kelly.

"How sophisticated," Jenny complimented with a wry smile.

Gibbs nodded slowly.

"After Jane Austen," he snorted. He made a face.

Jenny tilted her head against the wall again and took a deep breath. It was odd to her that she was learning more about Gibbs now than she ever had during their relationship. It made for a conflicted feeling.

They were getting on well right now, they had this entire visit. They had successfully spoken only of subjects that were necessary to speak of. Quite a few details were being set in stone.

The one thing they ignored, never acknowledged, was the letter, and what had happened in Paris. It just hung in the air. She thought maybe it always would. It made her a little sick. She wondered how that would pan out.

"What about _your_ Mom?" he asked, as if he'd suddenly realized he was giving all the information. He looked at her expectantly.

Jenny gave him a decidedly skeptical look and snorted derisively.

"Helen," she answered curtly. "Don't even think about it," she growled bitterly. "My mother is a spiteful bitch."

Gibbs gave her a surprised look, noticing her use of the present tense. He opened his mouth slowly, but Jenny looked so vicious at the movement that he thought twice. It might be something to address later. Helen was a stuffy name, anyway.

He lifted his tumbler again and sort of gestured with it to the notepad.

"Mark out Emily," he said bluntly. "Diane named her baby Emily."

Jenny picked up the pad promptly and did not waste much time scratching it off.

"Diane and Fornell had a baby?"

Gibbs looked at her incredulously.

"She's a _year_ old," he said.

Jenny shrugged. She didn't keep up with Jethro's ex-wives' forays.

"Ducky suggested a French name," Jenny said with some amusement.

"You talk to him?"

She nodded, smiling fondly.

"I hear he gave you a little what-for," she teased.

Gibbs just glared.

"Nothing French, Jenny," he said finally.

She chewed her lip, and lifted her wine glass. It wasn't a good idea. Ducky's suggestion had been _Fleur_. Jenny liked it, but it didn't fit Jethro. It just didn't fit. She wouldn't even go there.

She lowered her glass.

"I think I want a Hebrew name," she said with a deep breath. She had been making up her mind about that lately.

He raised his brows at her, looking skeptical. He didn't think it made sense. He waited for her to explain herself. She wasn't Jewish. She hadn't been out of the country before their operations in Europe.

"I love Israel," she murmured softly. She really did. She snorted and straightened a little, holding her head up. "Tali said Hebrew names have strength," she said mildly. She hesitated for a moment. "That they have God's hand on them."

Gibbs looked at her intently. His blue eyes seemed to study her motive.

"You religious?" he asked.

She wet her lips, lifting one shoulder a little helplessly. Her hand drifted to her midsection, and swallowed hard. She had to admit, she didn't know lately. Some things were so unbelievable, they made her believe.

"A prayer never hurt anyone," was all she answered.

His eyes on her made her feel scrutinized. She swallowed.

"Hebrew," he repeated agreeably. "Rachel?" he asked, naming a biblical woman he remembered.

Jenny made a sour face and shook her head.

She pursed her lips and looked over at him.

"Hannah is pretty," she allowed. "I like Madeleine."

She felt silent and watched him, waiting. Something registered in his eyes. He narrowed his eyes as if thinking, and took a heavy drink, holding the glass loosely with his palm arched over it. He nodded. His brow furrowed.

"Kelly's best friend's name was Madeleine," he revealed gruffly. There was a guarded look in his cobalt blue eyes. "Maddie."

Jenny smiled hesitantly. She pulled her legs up and relaxed them, wrapping her arms around them loosely. She looked around the room comfortably. They fell into silence. They lost thread of the conversation, and she didn't know where to go from there.

She turned back to him suddenly, straightening her shoulders.

"Will you paint the nursery?"

* * *

><p>She wasn't sleeping well tonight. Things kept her awake, despite the fact that the past two nights Jethro had been here, she had slept better than she had in quite some time.<p>

He had been asleep on the couch when she came back from a surveillance operation in south Tel Aviv. She shook her head. He would accept no offer of lodging but the couch. She thought it was because divorce had conditioned him to sleeping on couches.

It was too hot to sleep right now.

She slipped off her light pajamas and pulled on a short silk robe over her undergarments. She didn't turn any lights on, but sitting in bed against the wall in the windowless room wasn't helping.

She wandered towards the soon-to-be nursery, seeking out a view of moonlight.

Jenny glanced at the couch as she slipped into the other room. Jethro's foot was braced up against the armrest. She rolled her eyes. He was too tall for it; why couldn't he just accept a damn bed?

The redhead looked at the paint cans stacked in the corner. He had managed to acquire them in a matter of hours. She didn't ask how; he just had his ways. She was glad he agreed to paint. She wasn't going to try it with the fumes, and it would occupy time that might otherwise fall into tense silence.

She yawned and shifted her weight, leaning against the doorframe. She heard a thump from the living room.

Raising an eyebrow, she turned around. Jethro had flung his arm out and banged it against the coffee table. His fingers twitched. She waited for him to wake up; some sudden touch like that would wake any marine up instantly.

She narrowed her eyes and walked over. His jaw was clenched in his sleep. He made a noise in the back of his throat, one of distress. She reached down and rested her palm on his knee.

"Jethro," she said loudly.

It failed to wake him up, but his leg jerked away from her reflexively. His muscles contracted.

"Kelly," he said clearly.

Jenny sat down on the miniscule bit of couch that was vacant next to his hip and pushed against him firmly, reaching out for his shoulder.

"Jethro," she said again. "Wake up," she snapped.

He grabbed her hand tightly, squeezing her fingers together. His eyes flew open and he sucked in his breath like he'd been choked. She tugged at her hand gently, wincing. He let go and bolted up, almost colliding with her.

It didn't look like he knew where he was.

"Nightmare," she said, as calmly as she could. There was a raw look in his eyes, and he was breathing heavily. "It was a nightmare, Jethro," she repeated quietly.

He looked at her harshly, eyes adjusting in the dark. Slowly, he moved his head back and forth, disagreeing with her. It wasn't a nightmare. He would give anything for it to have just been a nightmare. But they were dead.

He carefully pulled his legs around her and off the couch, sitting up next to her. He leaned forward and rubbed his temples roughly with one hand.

Jenny hesitated. She shifted towards him, and laid a hand against the back of his neck, massaging the tight muscles gently. She pulled his head towards her and pressed her lips to the side of his head. He was covered in sweat.

"I miss 'em," he muttered hoarsely.

She nodded.

"You need a drink?" she offered quietly.

He lifted his head up and she tilted hers to look at him. He rubbed his hand over his mouth.

Jenny got up, assuming the answer was obvious. She turned on two of the lamps so it wouldn't be too bright and poured a good amount of bourbon into a glass, taking it from the decanter that had been out since he arrived.

She set it on the coffee table in front of him, and remained standing.

She had never seen him like this before.

Jethro swallowed half the bourbon in one go and then looked at her guardedly.

"I wake you up?" he asked gruffly.

She shook her head, pushing her hair back. She reached down and rubbed the side of her leg absently, failing to notice how his eyes followed.

He watched her sharply, as if he was concerned about her. Her eyes adjusted to the light and he leaned back, bourbon on his knee. It took all of three minutes for him to look like hard ass, immoveable Jethro again.

"Are the dreams bad?" she asked neutrally.

"Yeah," he answered curtly, deflecting the question. "You came in hours ago," he said, pointing around his glass. "Why are you still up?"

She sighed in frustration, giving him a short glare. She pushed her hair back again, running her fingertips over the back of her neck apprehensively. She walked away from the desk she'd chosen to lean against and sat down next to him, her back against the armrest his head had been on.

She took the bourbon from his hand and set it on the table edgily, drawing his hand towards her.

Jenny placed his hand over her abdomen and held it here, her fingers covering his. She felt his pulse, and pointedly kept his hand in her grip until he could feel what she could feel.

"It's nocturnal," she said dryly. "Keeps me up," she added, her voice lowered uncertainly.

She didn't say anything else. Jethro didn't move his hand, but she let go of his, and propped hers against the back of the couch, cradling her neck in it supportively. She bit the inside of her cheek. Her eyes stung like hell.

He tilted his head, looking at his hand and a strange look crossed his eyes. She couldn't place it. He looked back up to her.

"When did it start?"

"Couple weeks ago," she answered. "It was like butterflies," she started thickly, but her voice broke and she sucked in her breath, closing her eyes tightly.

"_Jen_," he said, alarmed by the tears. "What's wrong?" he demanded sharply.

She waved her hand weakly, covering her lips. She reached up and pushed her hair back, her hand shaking almost imperceptibly.

"Every time I feel it, I remember that I almost had an abortion," she said thickly. She didn't look at him. She hesitated like she was going to say more, but another frustrated look crossed her face.

"I don't want to talk about it," she decided shortly, her voice hoarse.

Jethro squinted, letting her words sink in. That was the last thing he thought she'd be stressing over—the last thing he _wanted_ her stressing over. He thought it was irrational. She hadn't had an abortion.

He leaned forward and placed his glass on the table, after swallowing the rest of it staggeringly. He turned towards her a little and leaned back on the couch, mirroring her position.

"You can't dwell on it, Jenny," he warned mildly.

"I was _that_ selfish, Jethro," she snapped. "That scares me."

She glared at him as if he didn't understand. He didn't, really. He didn't relate. He thought it was a testament to her unselfishness that she _hadn't_ had an abortion.

"I found out I was pregnant, Jethro, and I wasn't happy. I'm _still_ not happy. And I'm supposed to be," she said bitterly. "But I'm just _indifferent_."

Her voice went up again shakily. He frowned a little. He reached out and grabbed her ankle, pulling her leg out from its awkward position curled under her and over his lap. He took her other leg and put it in his lap as well, resting his arm over her knees.

It was a credit to him that he failed to notice how short her robe was, and how bare her shapely legs were. He looked down at her feet. They looked a little swollen, but nothing bad.

Jenny shifted a little, watching him apprehensively. She winced and her hand flew to rest below her ribs, pressing. Jethro watched her with interest. Aware there was not much he could say to assuage her fears.

She let out a shaky breath and dipped her forehead into her palm, shaking her head, her lips twisted in a scowl.

"I will make the worst mother," she muttered sarcastically.

"No," Jethro said sharply, leaning forward. He bent towards her, over her legs, one hand pressed against her thigh. He glared at her when she looked up in surprise at his proximity, and he pulled her hand away from her face. "No, Jen. Don't even think it," he growled.

She scoffed at him half-heartedly, pulling her hand slowly out of his grip. She swallowed hard and leaned back a little, so her face wasn't so close to his. His blue eyes bore into hers and she parted her lips slightly.

She cleared her throat.

"Jethro," she asked steadily, her demeanor changing. She moved her head slightly, looking at him guardedly. "Do you see other women?"

She had been meaning to ask, to sort that situation out. Now struck her as the right time, because for a split second, she'd thought he was going to kiss her. He tilted his chin up a little at the question, the only sign he'd been caught off guard.

He leaned back a little, hand still resting on her leg.

"I think I have enough on my hands without another woman," he answered caustically. He shook his head, answering in the negative. He sounded contemptuous of the very suggestion. Jethro was old-fashioned.

She had not really thought he'd be off cavorting with other women back in the states. She just thought it was something they needed to address.

"You see men?" he asked tensely, glaring over at her. She felt a little attacked by the aggressive nature of his inquiry.

"No," she answered pointedly. She lifted an eyebrow. "Would you object if I did, at some point?"

He bristled visibly. She knew him well enough to see his jaw tighten, and a muscle throb in his temple rigidly.

"I can't stop you," he answered brusquely. "But another man around my baby, yeah, that's a problem," he said. He was somewhat harsh in his assessment, and she easily understood his concern.

She did not think she could see another man anyway. She didn't think it would be fair.

"What if I asked you not to see other women?" she questioned quietly.

He shrugged.

"I don't need other women," he answered darkly under his breath. It wasn't much of an answer, and though they had some pre-established preferences laid out, they had no rules.

It seemed odd, asking in round-a-bout ways that each be faithful to the other when—technically—they had nothing to bind them together. The romantic part of their relationship was in shambles, anyway.

Their conversations seemed to erratically jump around, one minute small talk, the next minute heavy. She thought they handled it rather well.

"Your feet still hurt?" he asked.

She looked down, lifting one shoulder half-heartedly.

Without a word, Jethro moved his hands to her petite foot, rubbing his thumb in circles, starting at her heel.

She closed her eyes briefly, tilting her head back. She mulled over their conversation in her head and breathed in quietly as she felt the baby move again. She lifted her head up, panic rising in her again.

"Jethro," she asked hoarsely. He looked over at her, alerted by the insecurity in her voice. Her green eyes looked uncertain and vulnerable. "What happens if I don't love the baby?"

Unexpectedly, Jethro did something she had not seen him do since Paris. He stared at her for a split second, and then rolled his eyes dramatically. She reached out and hit him in the shoulder, her heart skipping a few beats.

She was not kidding around, and he was making fun of her.

"That won't happen," he said, blowing her off. As if it was nothing.

"How do you know?" she fired back curtly, her voice edgy.

He paused, and looked at her, his expression losing a little of its levity. She bit the inside of her lip, reminded that he had been there. He had done this before.

"It won't happen, Jenny," he emphasized.

He went back to massaging her feet, his lips shut tightly. His jaw was still set.

She was unsure, but she trusted him.

She had to trust him.

* * *

><p><em>As I stated last chapter, there are very long chapters in this piece of work. This one is shorter than the last, but all of them are generally in the 20,000-30,000 word mark. So, well, have fun-I suppose. :)<em>

_-Alexandra_


	4. Arba

**__**_A/N: Yet again, another very long chapter. _

* * *

><p><em><strong>Four <strong>_

_**July 31st 2000**_

Cursing the chronically malfunctioning NCIS air conditioning, the frustrated ex-marine glared at the board set up in front of him and his partner, scrutinizing the case information.

He watched Anthony DiNozzo struggle through the timeline of events, mulling over things out loud. This was a somewhat tangled case of robbery and embezzlement, and Gibbs had reluctantly allowed the probie to take somewhat of the lead.

He was leading on a very short leash, however.

It was sweltering, inside and out. July seemed to get hotter every year.

"I don't know who stole the shrimp. Abby said she can't track the money past September of ninety-nine, so I _think_ I should question the Freemans again and see if they slip up," DiNozzo paused, and then snapped his fingers, "_Or_ I could question their neighbors, see if they started making fancy purchases…_yeah_, I could do that!"

DiNozzo's voice went up excitedly, as if he had just made some genius discovery. He tilted his hair-gel covered head at the corkboard.

The phone on Gibbs' desk rang shrilly, breaking into their trains of thought. DiNozzo didn't seem to notice. Distractedly, Gibbs reached behind him and picked it up.

"Gibbs," he answered gruffly.

"Gibbs," repeated a female voice that was quickly becoming familiar to him.

"What do you think, Boss, I can quest—"

Gibbs glared at DiNozzo and snapped rapidly, indicating that the kid should shut his trap. DiNozzo clamped his mouth shut, and Gibbs stood up, turning towards his desk. He lowered his voice and held the phone close to his ear.

"I just don't know what happened to all the shrimp," DiNozzo mused loudly in the background, far off somewhere.

It was rare he spoke to Ziva and not Jen.

"The flamingo is about to visit you," she said cryptically.

Gibbs blinked.

"What?" he asked curtly, his volume rising a little. Was that supposed to mean something was wrong? Was Jenny's code name '_flamingo_'?

"…shrimp Creole, shrimp gumbo—shrimp pan fried, deep fried, stir-fried—"

"DINOZZO!" bellowed Gibbs. What the _hell_ was that kid on about?

"The flamingo," Ziva was repeating. "The bird, the bird that American parents tell their children brings babies!" she insisted.

Gibbs was torn between laughing and shouting at her, he was so thrown off guard. He took a minute to let that sink in.

"_Stork_," he growled the correction. "It's a stork, is—"

"Well that is just as ridiculous as a _flamingo_," Ziva interrupted indignantly. "In Israel—"

"Ziva," he broke in sharply. "Is Jen alright?"

He was almost positive DiNozzo was inching closer, listening to every word. At the moment, that was the least of his concerns—though he sure as hell did not want DiNozzo poking around when it came to Jenny.

"She is very…angry," Ziva answered thoughtfully. He started to respond in irritation, but she continued, her voice sober suddenly. "How soon can you get to Tel Aviv?"

Gibbs looked at his watch, straightening a little, glancing around.

"Soon as I find a flight," he answered firmly. "It's two weeks early," he muttered, a slight question in his tone.

"I was under the impression predicting this thing is not an exact science," responded Ziva wryly. "Do not worry. The doctor says she is okay," the Israeli soothed.

Gibbs wouldn't be convinced.

"Let me talk to her," he said. He turned and looked over his shoulder.

DiNozzo stood there, staring dumbly at Gibbs, his ears perked up.

"I cannot. I am secretly using a cell phone," Ziva answered.

Gibbs, glaring at his probie, made a noise of frustration.

"Can you make a flight at three-oh-five?" Ziva asked.

Gibbs checked his watch again. It was approaching two-thirty. He figured he could grab a few things and get to Dulles—once he booked a flight, he might cut it close.

"Yeah," he answered swiftly.

"Good. I booked you a flight already. Just go."

"Tell her I'll be there when I can," he said sharply, starting to hang up.

"Jethro," Ziva said quickly, preventing him. "She says you are to bring something?" the woman reminded him uncertainly.

"I've got it," he said hurriedly, under his breath. He hung up the phone without further adieu, veritably slamming it into the receiver. He stormed around his desk and holstered his gun, tucking his badge into his coat pocket.

"Uh, everything okay, Boss?" DiNozzo ventured slowly.

He didn't answer the kid. He locked his desk and snatched his car keys, leaving practically everything running. He pointed threateningly at DiNozzo as he marched towards the elevator.

"You're in charge, DiNozzo," he barked shortly. "Don't do anything stupid. Report to Morrow."

He stepped into the elevator, restless, leaving DiNozzo standing there with a wide-eyed, half-terrified look on his face.

* * *

><p>She was lying on her side in the best Medical Center in Tel Aviv, reminding herself how much she hated hospitals and generally lamenting her current state of existence. She was also harboring a considerable amount of annoyance towards Jethro.<p>

Jenny bit her lip, wincing violently. She held her hand lightly over her face, breathing out quietly against the cool side of a starched pillow. One of the Davids was in the room with her, and she didn't know which one it was at the moment, but she had already kicked every one of them out once.

She could not figure out _why_ they kept coming _back_.

She whimpered quietly.

"Would you like to hold my hand?" a male voice ventured mildly.

"Haswari," she growled, peering through her hand. "Leave."

"I do not mean you harm, Jenny," he said, and he meant it sincerely. She knew he was apprehensive; all of this had started whilst she and he were having an argument over the details of an operation. He meant well, but she still was wary of him; she did not want him near.

He stood, and prowled like a jungle cat, agitated.

"Might I get you anything?" he asked. He was nervous. The mysteries of women and pregnancy spooked him, something she had figured out recently.

"Get out," she answered sharply, covering her face again.

She didn't like them hovering. She didn't even like the nurses hovering. She was fine. She was going to be even more fine with this was over. She wanted to be alone right now. She was overwhelmed with being terrified, facing reality, and pain.

And she thought that bullet to the _thigh_ had been bad.

What was even worse, this was ahead of schedule. It threw a monkey wrench into her plans. She figured this was the first of a never-ending string of times _that_ was going to happen, but it made her edgy. She was nervous. And Jethro was supposed to be here.

She didn't know if she wanted him, or if he would just be a nuisance.

She bit her lip again, gripping the sheets. She pushed her damp hair back and gasped, blinking her eyes rapidly. She felt sick.

Ziva slipped into the room, ignoring a sharp look from her redheaded friend.

"He is on a plane," Ziva announced, strolling up to Jenny with a thoughtful look on her face.

"Why do Americans tell children storks bring babies?" the Israeli asked.

Jenny laughed hoarsely, raising her eyes to the ceiling. She closed them slowly and chewed her lip.

"I want him here, Ziva," Jenny admitted softly.

Ziva just took her friend's hand tightly and pressed a cool palm to the Jenny's forehead. Ziva made no comment. She would stay if Jenny wanted her to, and she would leave if she was kicked out again.

* * *

><p>Ziva showed him down the white-washed, sterile hallway. Their footsteps echoed emptily in the quite hospital corridors, and Gibbs hated the sound. The last time he had been in a hospital with Jenny—he didn't want to think about it.<p>

He had gotten here as fast as he could, but the twelve hour flight across the world was an unwelcome and inevitable impediment.

"Is Jen okay?"

Ziva nodded.

"She was rather out of it for a bit," she answered slowly. "There were not any problems, I do not think," Ziva paused. "Your little one is six hours old," she added.

"She ask for me?" he asked shortly.

Ziva thought about it briefly. She considered telling the truth, but she knew her partner. Jenny would not want Gibbs to know she had asked for him; she would see it as weak.

"She did not," Ziva answered carefully.

It was somewhat true. Jenny had not at all specifically _asked_ for Gibbs. She had said that she wanted him there.

Gibbs nodded shortly, resisting the urge to swear under his breath. Ziva stopped outside of a closed door, cocking her head to the side with interest.

"You have not asked of me if you have a boy or girl," she stated. "Or of the name she chose."

Gibbs shrugged and reached for the door.

"She'll want to tell me," he said gruffly.

Ziva inclined her head and turned swiftly on her heel. She had a knack for moving so silently, even his skills as a U.S. Marine were challenged.

Gibbs stared at his hand on the doorknob for what seemed like a lifetime. There was no point in trying not to think about Kelly. He swallowed heavily, and opened the door.

* * *

><p>He noticed she was dead asleep as he closed the door softly behind him. He smirked at the sight, trying to remember if had ever seen Jenny so completely out of it.<p>

He had no intention of waking her.

The baby was in the typical rectangular, translucent infant hospital crib used in the United States. Gibbs counted on figuring out if it was a boy or a girl from the colour of the blanket, but he discovered that was not possible. In Israel, babies were apparently wrapped in white.

He looked over at Jenny briefly as he stood next to the little crib, and then gingerly reached down and touched the baby's arm, narrowing his eyes to read the hospital bracelet. _She_ squirmed and moved her feet, squeaking softly.

Most of the writing was indecipherable Hebrew, but her name, weight, and length were easily understood.

_Madeleine Jane_. He had another daughter.

She was seven pounds even, and nineteen inches. She was little.

He rubbed his thumb softly over her hand. Seeing her was one thing. He knew when he picked her up, everything was going to change.

The baby fidgeted and wriggled her arm out of the blanket, her eyelids fluttering. Big, bright blue eyes stared up at him. He smiled, and gently slipped his arms underneath her, picking her up and cradling her protectively. He made sure the white blanket was snuggled around her. It was chilly in the room.

She didn't cry. She stared at him. Gibbs looked back, slipping his index finger under the tiny curls of her fist. She was warm and fragile in his arms. All the memories of Kelly seemed to hit him like a ton of bricks, and his throat locked up.

He felt like he couldn't breathe, so he walked over to the window, moving around.

"Madeleine," he tried it out quietly, calling her name. He tilted his head, lifting his eyebrows at her.

The baby girl just made soft squeaking noises in response.

Gibbs grinned and walked slowly around the room a moment, coming back to stand by the bed, eyeing Jen. He wondered if she would wake up any time soon. Madeleine let out loud squeal as if to ask just _why_ he was staring at her mother so intently.

Gibbs was not the least bit surprised when the sudden cry woke Jenny up instantly.

Her eyes opened drowsily and she blinked, raising herself up on elbows in an alert, sleepy sort of way. She narrowed her eyes at him and turned towards him, stretching her neck stiffly.

"Jethro," she murmured to herself, relaxing a little.

She sat up on the pillows a little, laying back tiredly, and yawned, a smile crossing her lips faintly.

"I see you've met the little creature," she remarked blithely.

"'_Creature'_?" Gibbs repeated, affronted. "Jen," he growled.

She laughed, and shrugged, shifting. She sat up a little, resting her temple in her palm.

"She's funny looking, Jethro," Jenny justified, wrinkling her nose. She gestured for him to sit down. "She's all red," Jenny pointed out.

Gibbs sat down next to her, holding the baby so her head was closest to Jenny. Jenny reached out and ran the tips of her fingers over Madeleine's soft fuzzy hair, lifting her brow.

"She looks scared all the time," Jenny said, tilting her head.

"You think it's because you're insulting her?" Gibbs asked sarcastically.

"It isn't insulting," Jenny answered. "It is affectionate teasing," she murmured, pursing her lips.

Gibbs watched her stroke Madeleine's head, his eyes roaming over her tangled hair and the thin t-shirt she was wearing. Madeleine moved fitfully, turning her head against him. Jenny sat up next to him, drawing her legs up Native-American style.

He turned his head back to Jenny when he felt her taking the baby. Madeleine fussed, and Jenny made a quiet, soothing noise. Gibbs just watched her. She held Madeleine in one arm; the baby supported by Jenny's elbow as it rested on her knee. Jenny tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear.

And then he wasn't angry with her anymore. He stopped feeling bitter about their relationship in Europe, and the desire that he'd had in the back of his mind to make her hurt went away. He felt protective. He didn't think he had forgiven her—she had cut him too deeply for that—but he didn't hate her; far from it.

There just wasn't room or energy to spare for resent anymore.

She was holding his baby. That changed things a little.

He reached out and touched the side of her head, casually threading his fingers into her hair. He bent forward and kissed her temple, his lips lingering on her brow. Her hair smelled fresh and her skin was warm.

He pulled back a little, eyeing her.

"You need anything?" he asked gently.

She shook her head slowly.

"No," she answered hoarsely. She bit her lip.

He removed his hand from her hair and rested his palm instead on the crown of Madeleine's head. The baby looked like she was trying to decide whether to cry or go back to sleep. She settled for nestling closer to Jenny.

Gibbs smiled. Unconscious of Jenny watching, he placed two fingers over Madeleine's heartbeat. He picked her back up confidently, cradling her head in his hand. Jenny leaned forward a little, looking down at her.

She trusted Jethro with every bit of her life _and_ Madeleine's, but she found that she did not like it when someone else had the baby and she was in the room.

"What?" Jethro asked suspiciously, glancing up from the baby. He shot Jenny a narrow look, aware she had been watching him intently.

The redhead shrugged.

"I've never—" she started hesitantly. "Nothing," she said quietly. "I've just never seen you look so…" she trailed off, biting her lip again, and flushed a little. "Nothing," she said again. It was hard to put into words how he looked, and she didn't want to dredge up bad memories of Kelly right now.

He glared at her, remaining silent.

She smiled, choosing to reach over and take Madeleine's hand instead of trying to finish. She smirked.

"You know she's the first baby I've ever held?" Jenny mused.

"You've gotta be kidding," Jethro responded bluntly, his eyebrows going up skeptically. He could remember holding a baby as young as twelve. In small towns, everyone held everyone's baby.

She shook her head slowly.

"I'm not," she insisted softly. "I've never liked babies, Jethro. Or children."

She sounded guilty as she explained. He remembered her asking what would happen if she didn't love the baby, and at the time, he had thought it was the most ridiculous question. He understood a little, now.

"Still afraid you won't love her?" he asked wryly, arching an eyebrow smugly. He sounded suspiciously like he was saying _'I-told-you-so'_.

She shook her head slowly again, parting her lips. She breathed in slowly, her throat locking up when she tried to answer.

"No," she answered shakily. "She's mine. It's completely different," she murmured, as if she didn't quite understand how that could make _such_ a difference.

She pulled her hand away from Madeleine and pushed her hair back swiftly, running her index finger under her eye deftly. She swallowed hard and lifted one shoulder, her green eyes a little blurry.

"I don't think I understood," she paused, brushing her fingers against the baby's cheek softly. Madeleine immediately turned her head towards Jenny. Jenny bit her lip. She cleared her throat falteringly. "When I asked you that. It was stupid. I didn't understand."

The thought scared her, that she had underestimated what this would feel like by so much.

Gibbs gave a half-smile. Madeleine whined and fidgeted, curling her fist against his chest. That was it. It _was_ hard to fully understand love until you had loved someone unconditionally.

* * *

><p>The day he had driven Kelly home from the hospital had been the most careful drive of his life, and so it was considerably understandable when he was completely floored if not just nettled when Jenny informed him Ziva David was driving them back to Mossad complex.<p>

And when Jenny confidently and flippantly went on to say that Ziva was the safest, most trustworthy driver the Mossad could brag of, Leroy Jethro Gibbs began to seriously doubt the sanity of Israelis.

Familiar with Ziva's driving, Gibbs had sat tense and alert in the front seat while Jenny was safe in the back seat with the baby.

Ziva had vanished like water vapor upon return, and Gibbs was watching as Jenny laid the sleeping baby in the dark oak cradle she had purchased on his last visit.

Jenny straightened a little, her hand hidden by the sides of the cradle. Her head bent, she stared down. Gibbs tilted his head, watching silently for a moment. He cleared his throat and set the empty infant car seat he was holding on the floor, walking forward.

"Jenny?" he asked mildly, peering over her shoulder.

Madeleine was snuggled in cream coloured blankets. Jenny turned her head towards him a little, arching an eyebrow.

"You okay?" Gibbs asked, resting his hand against her shoulder.

She smirked.

"You know, Jethro, I could go for a drink," she said slowly, turning slightly and nodding sharply with her head towards the desk. "Something stronger than wine."

He turned, and noticed the bottle of finest Kentucky bourbon he had left behind.

"Hmpf," he grunted, a noise she found familiar. Something he used to do when he teased her concerning her _insatiability_.

She gently hit his stomach with the back of her hand.

"Glasses in the same place?" he asked gruffly, strolling over to the desk.

"Mmm-hmm," she answered calmly, running two fingers down the baby's stomach. She squeezed the edge of the waist-high cradle and retreated slowly to the couch, sitting down with a tired, uncertain sigh.

She gazed at Jethro's back for a moment, watching him pour the drinks.

"Was it difficult for you to get away?" she asked after a silent moment. Madeleine had been born early, and they had worked out specific dates for Jethro to be able to be in Israel for a decent amount of time around the actual due date.

Gibbs shook his head with a shrug as he handed her a glass.

"Nah, DiNozzo can handle what we had," he answered gruffly.

Jenny took her glass and gave it a look, tilting her head at him.

"Should we toast?" she asked, with a touch of sarcasm. Her brow arched regally.

Gibbs rolled his eyes at her. He reached forward and clinked his glass unceremoniously against hers, briefly pleased by the flash of mirth in her green eyes.

"Ah, and don't you get a cigar—"

"Jen, drink the bourbon," he ordered, giving her a gruffly amused look. She smiled and took a drink, closing her eyes and leaning back as she did so.

She took a deep breath as she lowered the glass. She pressed her lips together lightly, looking back over to the cradle. The windows were open and the sun was hot; it could be felt in the room.

August in Israel was murder.

He watched her silently. She seemed to be coping okay. This was understandably a situation that was polar opposite of what he had experienced with Shannon and Kelly. The reasons why were too many to name.

Her forehead wrinkled slightly as she looked at the cradle. She lifted her shoulders and looked back at him with evident exasperation, wincing as she shifted, and seemed to think twice of crossing her legs.

"I do not even know what to do with myself," she said matter-of-factly.

The silence between them was alternately awkward and peaceful, depending on what subject came up, and there was truth in her honesty; they had stumbled this far. Now it was real. Now they might not know where to go.

She knew she sure as hell didn't.

Gibbs took a slow drink of his bourbon and sat on the edge of Jenny's desk chair, leaning forward on his knees.

"You don't have to do anything," he said simply, shrugging.

"Then I don't know what to do with her," Jenny retorted quietly, giving him a look as if she thought he was being deliberately thick.

"She's asleep, Jen," Jethro answered mildly. There was nothing to do for or with Madeleine at the moment but let her sleep.

She glared at him wordlessly, parting her lips slightly. She brought a hand up to her mouth and gestured mildly towards the baby. She was clearly at a loss. She did not know what the situation warranted; she should sit here and coo over her baby, or get back to work?

She felt like doing neither. She felt like crying. She felt like there was something maternal she was supposed to be _doing_.

"What's wrong?" Jethro probed tensely.

"What's _wrong_, Jethro, is that I have spent six months mechanically accepting this, subconsciously and _deliberately_ staving off facing reality and now _reality,_" she stressed, pointing at the cradle, "depends _completely_ on me!"

Her voice seemed to barely escape her throat at the last, caught in breathlessness, and perhaps an unexpected wave of tears.

Gibbs stood abruptly and abandoned his bourbon. He strode over to the couch and sat down next to her, firmly taking her bourbon away from her. He made a hushing noise in the back of his throat. It was the first time she had voiced to him that she was nervous.

"It'll settle in, Jenny," he soothed, looking towards her as he leaned out and placed her glass on the coffee table. "You take care of her. That's what you do," he offered, attempting to give something. "She'll let you know what she needs."

He hesitated to touch her, because he didn't know what kind of message it would send. He knew she wouldn't want to wake the baby. She would figure out real fast that waking the sleeping infant was never favorable.

The redhead sat rigidly, looking at the cradle. Gibbs leaned back away from her a little, eyeing her carefully. Jenny reached up slowly and pulled her thick hair back, tying it up in an elastic band, away from her face.

Her arm came to rest on his leg.

"What if she stops breathing?" Jenny asked out of the blue.

"What?" he responded sharply, alarmed, and caught off his game.

She turned to look at him, her emerald eyes guarded. She held his gaze.

"It happens sometimes, I read," she said softly. "What if it happens to her?"

His gut twisted at the thought. What the hell had Jenny been reading all these months, anyway? A curse escaped under his breath and she swallowed hard, staring at him.

"She isn't going to stop breathing, Jen," he growled. He wanted the thought gone from her mind. She couldn't do this if she was going to turn into a basket case—not alone. And he didn't like to be reminded that she would be alone a lot.

She snorted.

"You can't promise me that," she sneered aggressively. "If she's in the cradle, and I'm working, and she stops—"

"Jenny!" he interrupted. "Stop," he warned. "You can't do this."

She furrowed her brow, blinking rapidly. She parted her lips, searching for words.

"You don't understand," was what came out, and she regretted it instantly, as much as she really, for a moment, thought he didn't _get_ it. She started to look back, to watch the cradle again, but there was such a flash of anger in his cobalt eyes that she couldn't.

"I don't understand?" he growled. "Worrying something might happen to her?" He barely noticed her squeeze his leg. He made a point to keep his voice low. "I think I _get_ _it_, Jen," he said hoarsely.

"Jethro," she said quietly, leaning in closer. He was thrown off by her proximity instantly and some of the pain and animosity that had flared dulled.

"I'm sorry," her words were sincere. But it was a force of habit for him to say:

"Don't apologize."

He didn't want her to apologize for Shannon and Kelly, any more than he wanted her to apologize for getting pregnant. One had nothing to do with her. The other was his fault, too.

He stood up, abruptly brushing her hand off of him.

She straightened, watching him apprehensively, her cheeks a little pale. Her hair escaped its ponytail in wisps. Her heart rate leapt when he moved towards the door—but he stopped and bent down to his bag. Ziva had brought it up.

He took a blanket out of the pocket. It was an old one, frayed at the edges, butter soft material, and a beautiful sage, like faded tree leaves. He smoothed it out a little and handed it to her.

She had asked Noemi to dig it out of her attic, and she had asked Jethro to bring it. She held it in her hands, watching him, her lips pursed. She could not figure out if she'd pissed him off.

He reached into the cradle confidently and picked up Madeleine, nestling the baby against his shoulder like it was second nature. Jenny felt a flash of jealousy, and at the same time her breath caught in her throat, watching him hold Madeleine like that.

She raised her eyes to him as he moved around her gingerly and sat down next to her, nodding silently at the blanket she held. She reached up and started to wrap it around Madeleine, and Jethro bent forward slightly, handing her the baby gently.

Jenny snuggled the old baby blanket around her daughter warmly, struck again by how small the baby was.

"You can watch her breathe," Jethro informed gruffly.

He pulled his hand away, pressing it briefly against the crown of Madeleine's head. He braced an arm against the back of the couch, watching Jenny hold the baby. The redhead smiled, wrapping her fingers around Madeleine's foot.

"I wish I could sleep like her," she murmured fondly, wrinkling her nose a little. She tilted her head and then looked up at Jethro, relaxed a little, seemingly comforted.

"How long has it been since you slept?" she asked.

He grunted in a non-committal way. He couldn't really remember that well.

"You're jetlagged, Jethro, take my bed," she said, jerking her head back at the master bedroom.

He glared at her, but the instinct to stay and watch her and Madeleine like a ultra-protective hawk clashed with a sudden overwhelming feeling of fatigue. He should let Jenny alone with the baby; let her shake her nerves out.

There was a lot more grief than he had expected conflicting with the proud or happy emotions he was supposed to feel. He hadn't expected to feel this emotionally wrenched. Not an iota of it showed on his face, but his head throbbed. He was tense.

He thought he might not love Madeleine like he had Kelly, but that nonsense was out the window when he held her. He hadn't thought he'd feel this fear though. The optimism and endorphins of fatherhood were missing this time—he was simply grappling with a haunting fear that Madeleine would be hurt, that something would happen to her.

He set his jaw and nodded, silently accepting Jenny's offer. She leaned back, getting more comfortable, and as he stood, she curled her feet up on the couch. He looked down briefly and then bent over.

Jenny looked up, eyebrows up a little.

He kissed the side of her head chastely.

"She isn't funny looking," he growled seriously.

Jenny snorted, stroking the bottom of Madeleine's foot.

"You get it from him," the redhead whispered loudly.

Lightly, Jethro tapped the back of Jenny's head.

"Get me up if you need something," he ordered shortly, making it clear he'd react very badly if she did not.

She nodded, shooting him a quick, teasing look.

"I'll be sure to wake you if she's hungry so you can breastfeed her," she retorted primly, hardly bothering to look at him as he left.

He glared at the back of her head, and then he left her alone with Madeleine.

But the jest was worth a smile.

* * *

><p>Abby Sciuto looked somewhat less perky and peppy than usual as she half-moped, half-pranced into the impeccably clean work area commonly referred to around NCIS as autopsy.<p>

The doors swished closed behind her and she waltzed over to an empty autopsy table, hopping up and perching on it, her hands gripping the edge. Her pig tails bounced, and she titled her head, pursing her lips as she watched Ducky work.

She sighed loudly, provoking a smile from the kindly elder man, and earning his full attention. He looked up, needle and thread in hand, pausing in his efforts to re-close some poor petty officer's chest cavity.

"Do you have a case of the Blues today, Abigail?" he asked sympathetically.

Abby sighed importantly again.

"Gibbs is gone!" she announced dramatically.

"Is he?" asked Ducky, his eyebrows going up. He had no knowledge of Jethro planning to run off to Israel again, and the last time, the former marine had given him the heads-up.

Abby nodded, her hair wiggling comically again.

"It's all very mysterious, Duckman! I think he doubles as a CIA agent—" she began mystically.

"Does Anthony know where he has gotten to?" Ducky asked, laying down what was in his hands. He looked at Abby curiously, beginning to remove his sanitary gloves.

"_Tony_ is busy flailing around in a panic," Abby retorted. "He squealed something about a shrimp thief and said Gibbs just stormed out yesterday without warning—" Abby broke off, sitting up straighter as Ducky's eyes twinkled suddenly.

"Do you know where he is?" she asked eagerly, a little lost without her favorite Silver-Haired agent. Gibbs was the only agent around here who was a real Class-A gentleman. He was nice to her and didn't act like she was a freak of nature.

"No, my dear, I am afraid not," Ducky said hurriedly, dashing to a sink. He began to wash his hands. "But you've just reminded I must call a very good friend of mine," he said warmly.

He did hope his mother had not thrown away the post-it note on which he had scrawled Jenny's number.

* * *

><p>He slept for he didn't know how long, but he woke up to inky darkness and, unexpectedly, silence. He had slept surprisingly well, considering all that had happened in the past twenty-four hours.<p>

Like any well-trained marine, within seconds of waking up, he was alert and up, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. He didn't bother fumbling for a light switch; he left the room, blinking in the low lamps that lit the sitting room.

Jenny's computer was on, as ever. The curtains were drawn, the entrance door to the suite locked. The absence of the redhead in the room somehow instinctively informed him that the cradle was empty, and Jen was probably in the nursery with Madeleine.

Thereto he went next.

And there he found Jenny.

She was asleep against a wall in the nursery, a pillow behind her back. She had her hand placed gently over the edge of the infant car seat. Confused, Gibbs approached quietly, crouching down beside her.

She had her hand on the baby's leg, and the baby was sleeping again. Gibbs smiled in exasperation. He reached out and shook her gently. Jenny looked at him sharply, eyes wide open instantly, full of exhaustion.

"It's me," he muttered. "What are you doing on the floor, Jen?" he asked, bracing his palm on his knee and arching an eyebrow.

Jenny sat up straighter, wincing, and looking around. She blinked and then peered down at the baby.

"I was feeding her," she murmured. "Couldn't get comfortable in the rocking chair," she yawned, with no attempt to stifle it, leaning forward.

He gave her a skeptical look. She had chosen the floor over an armchair or the couch, even?

"You put her to sleep in the seat," he said slowly.

"She fussed in the cradle," Jenny answered edgily.

Gibbs made a point of turning to look at the rather expensive crib he had personally assembled.

Jenny held his gaze for a minute and then took a steady breath, holding back another yawn, and lifting shoulder. She looked uncertain.

"I can't sleep with my hand in the crib," she admitted in a mutter. She sounded annoyed with herself.

Gibbs smirked, albeit it was a little lopsided. He thought it was strange that Jenny was so shaken by the thought that Madeleine would stop breathing. He hadn't expected it from her of all women, and Shannon had surely thought nothing of the sort.

He held out his hand to her.

"Your turn, Jen," he said. "Bed. Sleep," he ordered.

"What time is it?" she asked blearily, taking his hand gratefully.

Her brow crinkled as she stood up and she made a face, running a hand over her stomach gingerly.

Gibbs shrugged. There were only lamps on in the nursery, and he couldn't see the analog clock very well. Jenny glanced at it, but failed to enlighten him. She pushed stray hairs out of her face and sighed, turning fretfully back to the car seat.

"Jenny, she's okay," Jethro offered calmly. He caught her eye firmly and nodded, raising his eyebrows.

"She sounds like a kitten when she cries," Jenny remarked, looking a little amused. Jethro snorted at the comparison.

"Don't get used to it," he warned ominously.

Jenny smiled tiredly.

She brushed her hair back again.

"It's six a.m.," she said quietly. "I should see the director."

"You should sleep while you can," Gibbs bristled protectively. He turned her slightly towards the door and pointed. "David can wait."

Jenny nodded absently. She could not have possibly predicted being this exhausted, physically or emotionally—and she thought herself emotionally exhausted due simply to the sheer whirlwind of what she was trying to comprehend.

Gibbs squeezed her hand and let go, turning to the seat. He picked it up and brought it over to the changing table, placing it on top and reaching in gently to pick up Madeleine, blankets and all. He cradled her in one arm, tucking Jenny's green blanket around her.

He glanced up at the redhead and narrowed his eyes.

"_Bed_," he growled. "Now."

She looked at him, not at all perturbed by the bearlike demeanor. She watched him holding the baby, and she wondered what he was thinking. Madeleine made soft, sucking noises in his arms.

"If she's hungry—"

"I'll wake you up," he interrupted mildly. "Relax some, Jen," he said comfortably. "I've got her. Get some rest."

She licked her lips lightly and started to leave. Jethro walked over to the rocking chair, his attention diverted away from her. She left him alone, but she couldn't relax. She felt apprehensive and was searching for the right way to adjust.

Unnervingly, she was overwhelmed by how much she loved that baby.

* * *

><p>The sun rose early in Israel. It seemed as if the sun was constantly out, ruling the desert nation with an iron fist.<p>

He shut the bedroom door tightly and then opened the curtains in the sitting room, doing the same in the nursery. He had the soft green baby blanket draped over his shoulder and Madeleine resting just below his chin.

She was awake and alert, and kept moving her hands or wriggling. He could feel it through his shirt. Warmth already pervaded the suite due to the arid sun. Gibbs was limited in what he could do, what with the size of the apartment and his unfamiliarity with and suspicions of the Mossad complex.

He did think it strange that he had seen no hide or hair of a David since Ziva had disappeared yesterday.

It was early on August the third, about forty hours or so since Madeleine had been born. August first was nearly exactly two weeks early, but she was healthy. Gibbs paced lazily back into the nursery, restless.

He stroked the silky down of hair on Madeleine's head, countering any loud, fussy noises she made with soft humming. He didn't want to sit. His memories of the first few days of after bringing Kelly home were blurry, and he was put out by that realization. He thought she had cried a lot, but Madeleine's calm made him not quite as sure.

He remembered a distinctly different atmosphere, with Kelly.

But then, that was seventeen years ago, and he had been twenty-six—and Shannon and Jenny were two very different women.

He did not feel that new-father nervousness he had before. That was understandable—he was acutely aware he was capable of caring for an infant. He had already done so. It was when he held Madeleine that he felt the difference; in his muscle was a tense, vigilant protectiveness.

She was dependent and fragile, and she changed everything. He had known things would be different; that was no secret. Madeleine upended even what he was prepared for. In addition to the grief that threatened to consume him when he was constantly thinking of Shannon and Kelly, he sharply remembered what it had been like to be deployed while his wife and daughter were at home.

That is what he faced, with Jenny in Israel, and the acknowledgement angered him irrationally as much as it terrified him.

He didn't want to be a world away while Madeleine was a baby or a toddler—any more than he had wanted to miss that piano recital of Kelly's, or her first school play. He wanted Madeleine in _his_ house under _his_ guard _in_ the United States—hell, it was safer than Israel.

He looked out Madeleine's nursery window into the courtyard, and shifted her into his arm, cupping her head in his palm. He angled himself toward the window, so she might feel the sun, and watched her baby blue eyes look curiously all over, focusing on him intently.

He grinned and pulled her close again, pressing his lips gently to the crown of her head. She felt so good to hold.

"What did we get into, Jen?" he muttered to himself, close to his daughter's ear.

The baby squirmed. He looked down at her approvingly, holding her against his left shoulder again. He liked to feel her heartbeat, and her barely discernible breath on his neck. He felt like he should explain to her why she'd barely heard his voice until now.

Madeleine started fussing earnestly; quiet at first, then more insistent.

"Shhh," he shushed. "Your Mom needs another hour," he whispered, lifting an eyebrow. He shifted the baby to the crook of his arm and drew his fingertips in a nonsense pattern over her stomach.

He almost didn't hear the soft knock against the nursery door. Almost—he was specially trained to hear things like that; things others wouldn't, and he turned around perceptively, narrowing his eyes.

Ziva David cocked her head at him, a ghostly smile flitting across her closed lips. She glanced at her knuckles as she stood in the doorway, perfect posture even though she held herself in a relaxed stance.

"I am impressed," she stated. "Jenny never hears me."

"You knocked," Gibbs said, indicating her hand.

"An accident," she demurred. "Though it would be fair, I suppose, to give some warning, as you are holding an infant."

The brunette entered the room no further. She stood in the doorway casually, clearly familiar with this room and in this atmosphere. Gibbs noticed she had not once cast her eyes on Madeleine.

"Where is Jenny?" Ziva asked, wasting no time.

"Asleep," Gibbs answered in a firm tone, with a touch of threat in his voice. Ziva narrowed her eyes studiously for a moment, and nodded minutely, accepting that he would not allow her to be woken.

"The Director is hissing for her."

"Hissing?" repeated Gibbs sarcastically, arching his eyebrows.

"My father hisses," Ziva answered bluntly. "The quieter the hiss, the more dangerous."

She leaned against the doorframe, and finally, her eyes fell to the baby. She studied the infant for a moment, her eyes following the soothing movement of Gibbs' hand, and she lifted her chin slightly, looking closer from her place.

"She is awake," the Israeli remarked.

Gibbs nodded. He lifted his hand and beckoned to her.

Regardless of his conflictions and the stress of his and Jenny's situation, he still felt the primal urge to show Madeleine off.

Ziva looked mildly reluctant, but she slowly approached nonetheless, stopping a few footsteps in front of him. He held his hand away from Madeleine's stomach and Ziva tilted her head, smiling a little.

"She is little," remarked Ziva. "_Naim_ _me'od_, _neshomelah_," the brunette murmured very softly.

Her native tongue rolled off her tongue in a songlike way; she was so much more comfortable in it than English, though her English was very nearly flawless. Barring the idiomatic confusions.

Gibbs watched her. She looked at him sharply through her eyelashes.

"English is a harsh language," she remarked. "Hebrew is peaceful."

"What did you say to her?"

Ziva smiled.

"'Pleasure to meet you, sweetheart,'" she translated. "She is, ah, cute as a," Ziva paused, waiting.

"Button," supplied Gibbs.

Ziva nodded.

"Well, I was sure it was not _flamingo_," she said wryly.

Gibbs smirked, and Ziva fell silent, her head still cocked at a curious, almost puppy-like investigative angle. Her nose twitched lightly and she looked for a moment like she might touch Madeleine's fidgety hand.

"You want to hold her, Ziva?" Gibbs offered gruffly, moving slightly as if to hand her over.

Ziva tensed visibly and straightened, standing almost at attention. She inclined her head as if to thank him for the offer, and shook her head slightly, the smile fading from her lips. For a silent moment, a plethora of beaten-back emotions flashed rapidly through her dark eyes, and Gibbs distinctly sensed that she was terrified of holding something she considered so innocent and fragile.

"I do not," she answered in a rough-but-gentle way. "Infants are not—you would say, my 'thing'—I think." She protested.

"Party line around here," Gibbs muttered under his breath, lifting his brows and shrugging at Madeleine. She made a face angrily at him.

He was sure it wasn't meant to be angry, but babies had all of two facial expressions: angry and confused. He reached up and adjusted the blanket on his shoulder deftly, lifting Madeleine against his shoulder as she started to cry.

"Have I upset her?" Ziva asked, watching with interest.

Gibbs snorted at the thought and shook his head, busy attempting to keep the little girl as quiet as possible. It was no use. Her fussing got louder. He was unsure how long ago Jenny had fed her, and he'd bet she was hungry again.

He paced over to the window, standing in the sun again.

He counted to ten under his breath, and he had reached eight when Jenny appeared sleepily, gracefully stepping around Ziva.

"Kitten, huh?" teased Jethro as she blinked in surprise, reaching up to touch her back.

"Shhhh, Madeleine," murmured Jenny sleepily, her hand cupping the back of the baby's head supportively as she took her away from Jethro. "I hear you."

Jethro helpfully handed over the green blanket.

"Tell him it will be an hour, Ziva," Jenny said, puckering her lips at Madeleine.

"He is impatient."

"Then tell him I'll breastfeed her in his office," Jenny retorted dryly, ending the conversation matter-of-factly.

Gibbs glanced up, and saw Ziva smirking appreciatively over Jenny's shoulder. Madeleine continued to cry and Jenny murmured quietly, wincing at the noise. Gibbs started to say something, and at the same moment, an alarm on Jenny's computer rang shrilly.

"Allow me," Ziva said simply, attending to it.

Jenny looked up, caught off guard, and in the next second her phone rang in an annoying tune from the seat of the rocking chair. She gave an exasperated sigh, looking back to her crying baby, and then up at Jethro. Her hair was tangled. Madeleine squealed even louder.

He gave her a somewhat bemused look. In all of thirty seconds, the peace and strangeness of new parenthood had been busted and all hell broke loose.

_This_ was the chaos he remembered.

* * *

><p>"The Director is going to stove you."<p>

Jenny blinked slowly and shot her partner an unsure glance as they walked towards the elaborate inner offices of the Mossad.

"Pardon me?" she asked politely.

It was Ziva's turn to look unsure.

"He will question you intensely?" she clarified, confused.

Jenny looked forward again, and bit her lip. She laughed under her breath.

"'Grill', Ziva. He will _grill_ me," she corrected gently.

Ziva growled under her breath.

"Who on earth is teaching you our idioms?" Jenny asked, lifting an eyebrow mockingly. Ziva swore in Arabic under her breath. She always swore in Arabic; the Hebrew language did not have 'curse words' per se, they were all borrowed from the other Semitic languages.

"I will strangle Tali," the brunette threatened.

Jenny laughed.

"Let her have fun."

"She has too much fun," responded Ziva in a guarded, final sort of way. Jenny sighed quietly. It seemed Tali received criticism from every member of her family for simply trying to enjoy her teenage years. It was hard to do in Israel, and it was made no easier when you were legally bound to Mossad from age fourteen.

"When she returns from her tutor, she will want to see your baby," Ziva said mildly. "She was sad to be out of the country."

Jenny nodded, straightening a little. They stepped into the outer office of and Ziva gave a signal to the door guard that only she, Ari, and Tali were privileged enough to use. The guard disappeared.

Another Mossad operative stepped in from another door, and spoke to the secretary in that other room.

Ziva turned to Jenny closely.

"We are starting preparations for the _Mazel_ mission. Ari has given the all-clear. You will be grilled," Ziva stressed the word, "in front of the team so the Director can determine your state of mind, and therefore your capability."

"You think he'd give me a little time, considering," Jenny retorted drily.

Ziva arched an eyebrow.

"He wanted you yesterday," she informed simply.

Jenny looked towards the door.

She had half forgotten that she had never been pulled from the _Mazel_ mission. If Madeleine hadn't been born early, she would be packing to leave maybe fourteen days or so after having the baby.

She had not previously foreseen problems when she agreed flippantly to stay on the _Mazel_ mission. She had wanted to be part of _Mazel_.

Suddenly, a veritable myriad of problems were painstakingly obvious to her.

* * *

><p>Gibbs had gotten brave.<p>

He ventured out of Jenny's suite and down to the floor's kitchen in search of something to eat per Ziva's offer. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. Come to think of it, he was not sure Jenny had eaten in the past twelve hours.

She had fed Madeleine before answering to Eli David's _hissing_, and had spoken to Ducky on the phone briefly. The baby was contently sleeping in her infant seat, and Gibbs made sure he had one keen, watchful eye on her at all times as he went straight for the kitchen coffee maker.

He did not trust half the people in the place with a hamster, much less his newborn daughter.

Madeleine had an endearing habit of twitching her little nose when she slept, he noticed, as he sat down at the table with a mug of coffee and stared at her, sipping thoughtfully.

He had been trying to avoid thinking too much over the past hours, instead focusing on Madeleine, and the peaceful, euphoric sort of breath-of-relief that accompanied having a healthy baby.

But he and Jenny had a lot to think about, quite a bit of which had seemed a hell of a lot simpler—to him at least—before the baby was born. The distance, for example. He watched her sleep and he remembered he had to go back to the States.

He remembered how dangerous Jenny's position was, and he bristled at the thought of how surrounded by peril she was—he did not know these people, and the more he held Madeleine or watched her curious, baby movements, the less he wanted to leave her here alone.

There was Jenny, of course, who was remarkably alert to Madeleine's needs, butGibbs had yet to decide if she was coping well or not. She was a guarded person. Little of her true feelings were ever available for scrutiny, and when he thought about the struggle and instability they were going to face, he worried.

Jenny did not like instability. She abhorred chaos, and anything that did not fit into a specific plan.

Grim as it was, he thought she might snap, when all of the stress was too much.

Gibbs set his coffee cup down. Madeleine sniffled and twitched her nose again, reminding him of a puppy or a baby rabbit. He reached out and took her hand, gently stroking with his thumb.

The contrast between her small, soft fist and his calloused, strong hand stood out.

He covered his mug with his free hand, swallowing. He set his jaw, going over details they had talked about in his head. Things were thrown off kilter. Originally, he had arranged to be in Tel Aviv six days before Jenny's due date, and Morrow had allowed him two weeks afterwards.

Now there was uncertainty.

And he did not want to be dragged back to the States.

She was barely two days old.

She didn't look much different from any other newborn baby, but he couldn't help thinking she looked like Kelly. She had Kelly's blue eyes—his blue eyes. But all babies' eyes were blue. Maybe she'd have Jenny's eyes.

Then he'd have to lock her up until she was forty.

"Madeleine," he muttered, holding her hand gently. She slept on, innocent, and unaware.

They were in the most unsavory situation. He wished Jenny had never left.

A soft, excited squeal interrupted the reflective silence.

Gibbs looked up sharply, his eyes narrowing. Tali David stood in the doorway, her hands clasped in front of her, and heavy-looking bag slung over her shoulder. Her nose was sunburned. There was a cut across her right shoulder.

She looked about to burst with excitement.

"Is that her?" she asked sweetly, clearly trying to keep from squealing louder.

Gibbs, having about negative twelve to zero experience with teenage girls, even Mossad-trained, mature ones, gave her a wary look, and nodded slowly, his hand resting against the side of the car seat.

Tali smiled and crept into the room, setting her bag down on a chair lightly. She tucked a single strand of long brunette hair behind her ear and peered closely, her hands back clasped at her breast.

"Oh, she is precious," Tali crooned. She wrinkled her nose and reached out, wrinkling her finger at the baby. "Look at her, sleeping! Tiny, she is!" Tali's accent thickened a little, and her word order reversed.

She and Ziva had a habit of lapsing into lazy Hebrew-thick-English sometimes, and phrasing things like some female, fancied up Yoda.

Gibbs smiled at the fervent admiration of his daughter and straightened, leaning forward.

"You want to hold her?" he offered to the younger David, repeating the question he'd given her sister.

Tali gasped.

"Can I?" she asked anxiously, her eyes shining. "I may?"

Gibbs gave her a peculiar look, and shrugged.

"She won't mind," he said.

Tali smiled warmly.

"I spoke with Ziva, she insisted Jenny was not allowing anyone to touch her," Tali elaborated, watching Gibbs loosely wrap a blanket around Madeleine.

Gibbs looked up shortly, his brow furrowing. He made a note to ask Jenny about it. He turned towards Tali, beckoning her forward a little.

"You held a baby before?" he asked gruffly.

She shook her head somewhat.

"Never one this little," she admitted. "But I volunteer in a refugee orphanage," she added.

Gibbs nodded, judging her a safe person to entrust the baby to. He was going to have to get used to other people holding her, and he would rather be there when they did. Tali reached for the baby, and Gibbs transferred Madeleine carefully, nearly resting his arms over the teenagers. He wriggled his hands out, his palm under Madeleine's head.

"Support her," he said. Tali did so swiftly, confidently supporting Madeleine's head in the crook of her arm. She smiled happily, her arms around the baby securely. Tali giggled, biting her lip lightly.

"What is she called?" Tali asked formally, not taking her eyes of the sleeping baby.

Gibbs gave her a surprised look.

"You were here, weren't you?" he asked.

Tali shook her head.

"Ari and I left to handle something a few hours before she was born," the young girl explained. "I returned from Qatar yesterday."

Gibbs grunted in acknowledgement. Tali looked up, arching a brow.

"Madeleine," he supplied at the prompting. "Madeleine Jane."

Tali pouted good-naturedly.

"My, and I thought she had decided on 'Hannah'! It means _grace_, you know," she informed. "Madeleine," she cooed gently. "It is Hebrew, but has no significance."

She seemed to think for a moment, tilting her head. She smiled, and laid her fingers on Madeleine's brow.

"It is pretty, still," she decided.

Gibbs gave a half-smile. The name had a nostalgic significance to him, it being the name of Kelly's childhood best friend. At the end of his last visit, he had simply told Jenny to pick something that wasn't abnormal, and when he'd learned his daughter's name, it had somehow meant a lot.

Jenny's use of his mother's middle name as Madeleine's was significant as well.

When Jenny had asked about Shannon and Kelly while she was pregnant, his reaction had been to shut down—to become hostile, almost. He felt defensive, protective, like she was trying to take their places, something that could never be done and he would never allow.

It was strange, but he felt somehow that Jenny's choice of name for Madeleine was her silent way of respecting Shannon and Kelly. The fact that Kelly and Madeleine both shared parts of his mother's name connected them.

Tali murmured under her breath to the baby, a soothing Hebrew hum. Gibbs leaned back, drinking his coffee and watching her closely. Her blue eyes sparkled. She rocked Madeleine back and forth.

"Little Madeleine," said Tali matter-of-factly. "You have eyes the colour of sapphire."

Gibbs lifted his chin, looking forward. Madeleine was awake, blinking. Staring at Tali in wide, baby-eyed confusion. She fussed; fidgeted her hands around a little. Gibbs set his coffee cup down.

Madeleine started crying; evidently deciding she didn't know Tali and didn't want to be held by her.

Tali frowned, still in her good-natured way.

"Aww," she soothed, stroking the baby's head.

Gibbs sat forward, holding out his hands and gesturing towards himself. Tali moved forward and allowed him to take Madeleine. Gibbs threw the blanket over his shoulder again and rested his hand on her head.

Madeleine cried like she wasn't sure if she were upset or not. She fussed and sniffled. He kissed her head, standing up to shift his weight slowly. Tali folded her arms and cocked her head, her eyes wide and soft.

"Oh, I do not understand how Jenny will bear leaving her even for a week, come September," she sighed absently, shaking her head a little. Her ponytail swished.

Gibbs became dangerously still. He moved his head away from the baby's and glared at Tali critically when he heard her words, his blue eyes narrowing.

"What?" he demanded sharply.

* * *

><p>"Have you <em>lost<em> it, Jen?" he barked at her harshly. She opened her mouth a fraction, but he didn't allow even a word. "What were you _thinking_?" he demanded, his eyes dark and narrow.

She folded her arms tightly, her stance defensive and her body tense. She had known something was wrong the moment she returned from her meeting with the Director. Tali had opened her mouth unwittingly, and Jethro was livid.

He had silently allowed her to feed Madeleine, settle her into her crib, and then he backed her into a corner. She felt so defensive, she wasn't sure where to start.

"I was thinking about my job—"

"Did it cross your mind that you'd have a newborn, Jenny?" Jethro interrupted sharply, rounding on her. His jaw was set immovably. "You even _think _of Madeleine when you agreed to go on this _mission_?" he spat the last word at her.

"I did not agree to go on the mission; I was already commissioned and it was impossible to terminate my role," she answered dangerously, narrowing her own eyes at him. "There is a lot riding on this, Jethro—"

"'_This'_ is more important than your daughter?"

"I didn't know her as my daughter then!" she shouted, losing her cool. Her eyes widened momentarily and she flicked her eyes briefly at the cracked nursery door. She quieted to a threatening level. "She was just an inconvenience when this was discussed, something I had to deal with later, Jethro, and I cannot back out now—"

"You damn well better find a way," he growled.

"You do not make my decisions for me," she snapped. "I never agreed to give up my career when I had the baby and you did not ask me to—"

"I know how important your _career_ is to you, Jen," he threw at her sarcastically.

She bristled, lashing back at him just as quickly.

"This is a matter of international security—"

"You can't just run off on a risky covert operation barely a month after having a baby!"

"You act as if I'm abandoning her—"

"She _needs_ you!" shouted Jethro, shattering their somewhat subtle, veiled attempts to be quiet and avoid waking the baby.

Jenny fell silent, stunned by his leap in volume. He took the opportunity to dig into her.

"Who is going to take care of her while you're gone?" he demanded. "Who is going to _feed_ her, Jen—"

"I don't know," she said quietly. She swallowed, fighting a rising desire to strike him. He seemed to be suggesting she was a careless mother, and in light of the insecurities she already had, it shook her up and made her angry.

"You don't—goddamnit," he swore, bringing his hand up as if he would swing at her. He rubbed it over his forehead. "You don't have a plan, _you_—Jenny—" he growled.

"This is the same reckless attitude that screwed us over in Paris," he barked. He flung out his arm, gesturing towards the nursery. "She has _no_ _one_ here, Jen, no one but _you_—Christ, Ziva's afraid to even hold her!" he snapped, driving the point home mercilessly.

He was trying to get it through her head. Desperately. He was somewhat surprised Madeleine hadn't started crying, and a wave of guilt crashed over him when he thought that, if she did, it would be because her parents were tearing into each other. Her life was too unstable already.

She smacked her hand down on the desk.

"There is no plan, Jethro!" she cried. "There stopped being a plan the day I found out I was pregnant! I will lose my job if I back out of this operation, Americans will lose their _lives_—this isn't some whimsical personal vacation. Do you think I _want_ to leave her? I made a mistake agreeing to this—I was ignorant, is that what you want to hear?" she broke off.

She turned, and then she whirled back, throwing a hand up shakily.

"_Is_ it? You want to hear me say that I am completely incapable of taking care of her and that I am selfish and ignorant and unfit?"

"Jesus, Jenny—" he started, backing off a little. That hadn't been what he had said. He thought that was coming out of her own suppressed feelings. She glared at him, emerald eyes flashing.

"Is that what you think of me?—it's been a long time since Paris, Jethro, and I _am_ capable of human feeling," she railed coldly, narrowing her eyes. "I am tired and stressed and I have to learn to be a mother in the middle of an international war zone!"

Eyes widened slightly, Gibbs watched her turn towards the desk, lean forward on it, hang her head, and burst into tears. His shoulders slumped, relaxing considerably. He sighed heavily and looked back towards the nursery, listening closely.

The baby monitor made no noise.

Gibbs walked over to her, leaning down beside her after a minute. He touched her shoulder and she stiffened, reacting negatively immediately. He did not apologize; he stood there quietly for a minute.

"I can't be here for her when you're gone, Jen," he said, voice laced with frustration. He rested his hand on the back of her head and took her shoulder, gently coaxing her to straighten up. She looked at him angrily, her green eyes swimming, her cheeks red, and pale underneath.

"We can't do this," she said grittily. "This isn't going to work."

"Don't, Jenny," he warned heavily, shaking his head. He was going to make it work; he wasn't going to be cut out of Madeleine's life—and he wasn't going to cut Jenny out. She needed them both.

"I don't know what to do," Jenny whispered.

Gibbs nodded, glancing at the baby monitor warily. He breathed in, resolving to attempt to work something out. He would find a way to be here if he had to. He reached up and rubbed his mouth, jerking his head at the couch.

"Sit down," he said.

He sat down, and he sat across from her, like he had all those months ago when this had first unfolded in front of them.

"Debrief me," he ordered, determined to figure something out.

There was no way in hell Jenny was leaving Madeleine alone in this place with some _babysitter_.

* * *

><p>Even when it wasn't quite visible anymore, the sun crept over every part of the city, signaling the end of a day, but the solar power was reluctant to loosen its warm stranglehold on Tel Aviv.<p>

Her laptop sat abandoned and unattended on the petite rocking chair stool, opened to page one hundred-something of the _Mazel_ brief. Her eyes hurt and she was starting to fall asleep reviewing the Intel, and so she opted for a break.

She stood next to the crib, tucking a few irritating strands of hair behind her ear. Jethro was dealing with changes in their situation on the Mossad equivalent of MTAC; he was consulting Director Morrow and communicating with his team.

He had been gone a couple hours now, and she had been alone with the baby just as long. She was anxious Madeleine hadn't woken up, and it was making her restless. She could not focus on her work while waiting apprehensively for her baby to cry.

She had been feeding her every two hours about, and as it had been nearly three quarters past two hours since Madeleine had fallen asleep, Jenny was silently freaking out. She watched Madeleine sleep, her stomach moving peacefully as she breathed.

Jenny reached down and smoothed a wrinkle in her own old, sage green baby blanket. Colonel Jasper Shepard had bought it on deployment in the Orient. He had been in Asia the first eight months of her life, and he had kept the blanket with him until he could give it to her.

Of course she kept it, and gave it to Madeleine.

Jenny breathed in slowly, letting out air quietly. She kept expecting more to happen. She expected the change in her life to be more dramatic and chaotic than this, but Madeleine simply slept, ate, and fussed—occasionally. Jenny was back in her suite, preparing for a mission, apparently waiting for a traumatic shift in her routine. It was more of a molding, though.

Madeleine was just part of her life and, for now, it was unexpectedly peaceful. She felt an eerie sort of calm even amongst all the nervousness and stress, and it seemed as natural as it was unnatural to take a break from deciphering Mossad Intel to soothe a crying infant.

There was much more going on, of course, but she had to compartmentalize, and learn to balance and deal.

She titled her head, pausing in smoothing her baby blanket as Madeleine thrust a fist up and squeaked fussily, opening and closing her mouth. She opened her eyes and wriggled, looking up at Jenny unhappily.

Jenny lifted her brow gently and took Madeleine's hand, stroking the soft skin on the back of her fist. The baby stopped fussing and stared at her, wide blue eyes unblinking. Jenny smiled, wrinkling her nose.

"You thought you had to yell for me," she said softly, reaching down and picking Madeleine up.

She wrapped the green blanket around her and shook her head gently, kissing Madeleine's curled fingers.

"No, I'm right here, baby," she cooed, turning and moving towards the window. Madeleine snuggled up to her breast, a maneuver she was becoming increasingly familiar with.

"It's about time," she muttered to herself, deftly undoing the buttons on her old, frayed oxford. She may have had the damn thing since college, but it was most convenient for the, ah, _dairy_ business.

She loved sunset in Israel. It seemed the most peaceful time. The fighting, hatred, and animosity seemed to disappear while watching the colours melt across the sky. Sadly enough, the city then faded into treacherous night.

For now, though, she could enjoy the sunshine—and the pleasant, balmy warmth, rather than sweltering heat.

Jenny looked down and watched Madeleine, smiling softly. Her blue eyes focused on Jenny; she would blink, stare at Jenny, and blink, content. Satisfied that the baby was comfortable, Jenny paced over to the rocking chair and sat down gingerly, opening her laptop and managing to prop it on her knee.

She rested her elbow on the side of the rocking chair, and stroked the crown of Madeleine's hair gently while she read. She knew the details, ins, and outs of this mission better than her own thoughts, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she would never be prepared enough.

She could not quite remember ever being so scared to leave for an Operation in her life, and she knew in the back of her mind it was because she had to leave the baby, and regardless of what she and Jethro had worked out, the thought was daunting.

Jenny's eyes scanned the words in front of her, taking breaks to check on Madeleine. The redhead reached over and pulled a string to turn a lamp on as the sunlight started to fade even more, and she leaned back, placing the laptop back on the stool.

Her suite door opened and shut loudly, immediately informing her that it could not be anyone but Jethro. Everyone else around here was as silent as the grave when entering and exiting rooms. He came in the nursery, peeking around the door, and turned the light on.

Jenny blinked in the bright light. She straightened her shoulders a little, gave him a quiet smile, and pulled the blanket up over her bare skin a little. Her daughter sniffled in protest of the movement.

"I feel like a cow," she announced dramatically.

Jethro rolled his eyes.

"Jen, you look fine," he threw out.

She looked up and lifted an eyebrow to him.

"I was not referring to my weight, Jethro, but excellent job walking into that particular trap," she remarked dryly.

He seemed to suddenly realize she was feeding the baby, and a pained look crossed his face. It was the same look he used to get when he said something stupid in Europe. He stayed silent for a moment, and noticed her watching him. He cleared his throat.

"You want me to leave?" he asked gruffly, unsure how Jenny felt about breastfeeding.

Jenny shook her head slowly, eyes on him, lifting one shoulder without concern. She had no intention of asking him to leave—she had stopped feeling any semblance of modesty around Jethro oh, about hour _three_ of their affair.

He nodded and came into the nursery with more confidence, leaning back against the changing table. He crossed his arms and fixed his eyes on Jenny silently. She arched an eyebrow as if to ask why he was scrutinizing her, but was distracted when Madeleine decided she was finished.

Jenny sat forward and adjusted herself, throwing the baby's blanket over her shoulder. She shifted Madeleine to her shoulder, giving her arm a break, and clicked her tongue gently when the baby started to whine.

"I don't think she likes behind held like that," remarked Jethro mildly.

Jenny, standing up, glanced at the side of her baby's head and stroked her back gently.

"Life is not fair, Madeleine," she whispered solemnly.

Madeleine just threatened to cry. Jenny smiled and walked over to the table, nudging Jethro out of the way with her foot. She gave him a look and then stepped closer, handing him the baby. He held her against his chest, supporting her head in his palm and looking at her.

She quieted down, focusing on him. Jenny opened a drawer and selected an onesie and a cap for Madeleine, spreading the blanket out on the changing cushion. She held up the hat.

"Isn't this cute?" she asked, wrinkling her nose and holding it below her eyes. It was yellow. It had a bunny on it, and the bunny was sniffing a flower.

"Precious," Jethro deadpanned, carefully laying Madeleine down. It looked like every other baby cap to him. Jenny rolled her eyes and smiled.

"_I_ like the bunny," she said to Madeleine. "I am trying to make small talk with your father," she added, beginning to change Madeleine with gentle movements. She had only done so once before, and she had the unshakeable feeling that she was going to break her fragile bones.

She turned looked at Jethro, and cocked her brow, laying the nightgown Madeleine had been wearing aside.

"You talked to Morrow?" she asked, prompting the conversation he was waiting for.

He nodded curtly.

"What are you going to do with me?" she asked dryly, shooting him a look through her eyelashes. He glared at her briefly.

"Morrow doesn't think it's smart to involve yourself if you're not at your best," Jethro growled. "But since you've made clear your intent, he's agreed to give me my two weeks then instead of when I would have had it around your due date," he explained.

"Meaning—"

Jenny began, and Jethro cut her off as he reached forward, helping her with Madeleine's arm without thinking.

"I'll be here with her while you're gone," he said firmly.

"You cleared that with Eli?" she snorted skeptically.

"He isn't happy," answered Jethro, "but he's damn well gonna deal with it," he added roughly, tickling the bottom of the baby's foot.

She twitched and made a cooing noise, squirming.

"What's the catch?" Jenny asked after a moment.

"I'm back stateside tomorrow night," he answered flatly.

Her hands slipped on the buttons to Madeleine's onesie and she looked over at him, her eyes guarded.

"Tomorrow?" she whispered.

"It wasn't negotiable," he answered blankly.

She looked like she might panic for a brief second, but she nodded and turned back, business-like, to the task at hand, picking up the yellow cap. She ran her hand over Madeleine's head, about to put it on, when the baby girl sneezed.

Her small body shivered and she wrinkled her nose up, closing her eyes and then staring like a frightened deer up at Jenny. Jenny pulled back, holding the cap and staring. She must have had an odd look on her face, because Jethro laughed—deep, _really_ amused laughter.

Jenny pressed the cap to her mouth and squealed softly.

"_That_ was the most adorable thing I have ever seen!"

Jethro grinned.

Jenny bit her lip, pinning a smile in place, and gently slipped the bunny hat onto Madeleine's head, leaning forward on the changing table. She picked her daughter up and touched her nose to the baby's tiny one softly, kissing her cheek.

Madeleine yawned, her eyes drooping lazily. Jenny snuggled the baby up to her shoulder, resting her nose against her forehead ever so lightly.

"Jen," Jethro asked after a minute, tilting his head to look at her with concern. His grin faded a little. Her green eyes were swimming with tears. Her lip shook between her teeth.

"I'm fine," she said on a short, hushed voice. She shook her head as if to shake away the sting in her eyes. He made a derisive noise in the back of his throat, stepping closer and invading her space.

"What'sa matter?" he asked his tone clear he would take no excuse.

She lifted one shoulder, and lifted her head, resting her hand on Madeleine's yellow-capped head. She breathed in deeply, managing to keep her voice steady.

"I was afraid I wasn't going to love her," she said slowly. "I didn't have faith in that maternal bond stuff, Jethro. Some just don't have that in them," she paused. "I thought once I got over that, I wouldn't have ridiculous fears to obsess over, but it's worse. I am scared of everything that could hurt her."

He was going to say something, but she went on after a moment, in a very low voice, carefully avoiding looking at him.

"I am terrified _I'll_ fall short of what she needs."

Jethro hesitated. Heavily, he looked at her, forgetting the tense irritation he had still been harboring due to her carelessness in the current situation. She wasn't someone he was at odds with for a moment; she was just a tired, scared new mother struggling to deal with the onslaught of powerful emotions motherhood evinced.

He moved behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently.

"Jenny," he said softly, pressing his lips to her temple unassumingly; chastely. "You're supposed to feel like that," he muttered gruffly, forcing the catch in his throat to stay hidden.

He thought of all the times he had promised Kelly nothing would ever hurt her while he was alive.

Taking a risk, he wrapped his arms around Jenny and turned his face into her messy, half-clipped back hair, taking a deep breath. She seemed tense, shocked by the intimate gesture, and turned her head, either looking at Madeleine, or trying to gauge his mood.

"Do you feel like that?" she asked in a small, hesitant voice.

She felt him nod his head. She felt him swallow. He didn't answer.

"I already lost a daughter, Jen," he muttered hoarsely.

He said a lot more to her than he ever had with that statement. It gave her a better look into, maybe a better idea of, what had made him who he was.

* * *

><p>His flight left in the middle of the day, and there was not much to be said or done in the mean time.<p>

There was only time to straighten out a few details with Jenny. He cleared their arrangement with Eli David, and retreated to Jenny's suite to spend a last few hours with his daughter, silently bitter that he had to leave when she was a mere five days old.

He was supposed to be used to it; the leaving. He should be hardened. He had been a marine; there had been countless times he had been ordered to leave Kelly and Shannon for any amount of time—but who was he kidding, it never got any easier. He never got _hardened_ to it.

And the fact, the painful memory, that the last time he had left them, he had returned to nothing helped not at all. It made it that much worse to sit here counting down the minutes until he left the country.

Jenny paced tensely around the room, a thin, high-tech headset secured over her pinned-back red hair. She spoke rapidly in Hebrew, and for all Ziva and Tali seemed to think, it did not sound particularly peaceful from Gibbs' point of view.

She had dark circles under her eyes, concealed partially by blended make-up. He had a consistent frown on his face when he looked at her, and he knew she hated it.

He drank his coffee silently, watching Madeleine sleep in the cradle. It had been somewhat of a bad night on the getting-the-newborn-to-sleep side of things. He resigned himself to sleeping on the plane. Jenny didn't have that opportunity.

And Madeleine was just generally unconcerned with the sleep schedules of her parents.

Jenny let out a string of angry sounding words in Hebrew and, in the next moment, she ripped the head set off of her head and flung it onto the desk. It made a loud clatter, startled the baby, and Madeleine woke up abruptly, her face crinkling.

She started to cry, and Jenny turned towards the cradle in disbelief, rubbing her forehead.

"I just fed her!" she said in frustration.

Gibbs, already setting his coffee down and picking up Madeleine, gave her short glare and held the baby to his shoulder, resting his cheek against her head, soothing her.

"You scared her, Jen," he said flatly.

Jenny looked at him, her eyes narrow, visibly upset by his words. She turned and picked up the headset, laying it down gently. She gingerly stepped around the infant car seat on the floor and opened her door, looking back at him when her baby had stopped fussing.

"Ziva is taking you to the airport," she said raggedly.

He looked up nodding, and eyed her critically.

"Everything okay?" he asked, nodding briefly at the discarded headset.

She glanced at it and nodded tightly, crossing her arms. She tilted her head to the side, her mouth a set line, and walked towards him slowly.

"Working with Haswari is like having teeth pulled without Novocain," she growled. She watched Jethro stroke Madeleine's back.

He narrowed his eyes.

"I don't like that guy, Jen," he said quietly.

She waved her hand in an annoyed gesture, blowing off his comment. His gut; he had already given her hell about the hunch Haswari gave him. For God's sake, Jethro had only had a few ill-timed run-ins with the man.

"He's a bastard, but he's irreplaceable," she said with finality.

"Watch your back with him," Gibbs warned in an undertone.

Jenny met his eyes, hers flashing with protest. He held her gaze pointedly, and managed to stay her retort. She sat down on the edge of the couch, glancing at his heavy duty duffle by the door. She leaned against the arm rest, sighing silently.

"How old was Kelly, the first time you had to leave?" Jenny asked quietly.

He paused, blindsided. He took a moment, drawing up the memory, and remained silent before he answered in a controlled, mild voice.

"Eight months," he answered finally, remembering it so clearly suddenly that it felt sharp, like needle pricks all over.

"Deployed?" Jenny asked hesitantly.

He shook his head a little, shifting slightly, supporting Madeleine's head so he could look at her.

"Sniper training school," he said gruffly.

Jenny nodded. She glanced at his bag again.

"Did you ever get used to it?"

"No," he answered, immediate and blunt.

She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted. She straightened stiffly, her shoulders going back defensively, and stood. He was in the doorway, lean and hungry looking, Tali and Ziva's much darker, much more hostile sibling.

"You owed me this report six hours ago," snapped Jenny aggressively, taking the small flash drive he presented in his gallant, arrogant sort of way.

"Forgive me," he said, inclining his head. He offered no excuse. She brusquely slipped the flash drive into the back pocket of the loose cargo pants she was wearing, standing protectively in Haswari's line of view.

He peeked around her, his height giving him the advantage.

"Tali gushes that your small one is quite beautiful," he remarked.

"I would agree, but my bias prohibits me from offering an opinion," Jenny answered curtly.

Haswari smirked, and gave a small laugh. Gibbs did not take his eyes off the younger man once, his gaze critical and hard, full of distrust. Madeleine fussed lazily, turning her head in his palm.

"I suppose for the moment I will take my sister's word," he relented. Jenny was surprised he showed any interest in the baby, but Ziva had mentioned to her earlier that Haswari had wanted to see her.

Jenny nodded firmly.

"You've been in Syria; she hasn't been immunized," she said dismissively, blocking his way still. She inclined her head.

Haswari gave a cold smile. He looked past Jenny and nodded in sarcastic cordiality to Gibbs.

"I do hope the weakness of the American military isn't catching, then," he remarked, in a way that much reminded Jenny of a catty high school girl.

She flung something out at him in Hebrew. He looked at her aggressively, and then left. He nearly ran into his eldest sister upon his retreat, and Ziva looked at him studiously, her black, liquid eyes brewing calmly.

"The two of you fight as primary school children," she remarked.

Jenny gave her a brief, ghost of a smirk.

"He _starts_ it," she retorted, mocking Ziva's comment.

"You seem to successfully finish it," Ziva murmured, comfortably entering the room. She lifted her left arm, eyeing a thin, military-issue watch. "It is slightly past noon," she said briskly.

It was all she had to say. Ziva was adhering to a tight schedule, and he suspected he was an inconvenient part of it. He liked it better that way. No long goodbyes. Not much time to think about it.

He stood up, nodding.

Jenny turned her back on Ziva. As Jethro stepped up to the redhead, he shot a narrow look at Ziva and she inclined her head, silently excusing herself to wait just outside the door, standing militarily with her back to them.

Jenny reached for Madeleine and took her gently, clicking her tongue softly to quiet her. Jenny didn't say anything; she avoided his eyes, holding the baby against her shoulder and resting her palm on Madeleine's head and neck.

Jethro was standing so close to her, she found it difficult to breathe without feeling conflicted. She had not had a lot of time lately to think about where she stood with him, and suddenly, she remembered that wherever she stood, it was not in the vicinity of 'over him'.

"She'll miss you," Jenny remarked quietly.

He smirked.

"She won't notice I'm gone," he retorted.

She rolled her eyes and shot him a look through her lashes.

"I was being courteous."

"Why start now?" he ribbed.

She raised her eyes and bit her lip, shaking her head at him. He smiled and leaned forward, resting one hand on the side of her head. He placed his hand on Madeleine's back, bent forward, and kissed the back of her head.

"Take care, Jen," he muttered, a very cordial, benign parting. He pressed another one of his unthreatening, chaste kisses to her temple and pulled back, eyeing her. "Rule three," he added.

She nodded.

He slipped past her, hoisted his bag up, and didn't look back. She didn't turn around.

* * *

><p>It was <em>only<em> because he was unprepared for the force of her hug that Abby Sciuto was able to knock a completely in shape ex-US-Marine backwards into Major Mass Spec. He knew she would be happy to see him…but _damn_.

"Jeez, Abbs," he growled, his complaint muffled in her shoulder. She squeezed him within an inch of his life and he grabbed her waist, straightening up and then reaching back to rub his lower back where it had collided with the heavy machinery.

"El Jefe! The King! Master Investigator! You're _BACK_!" she squealed, her arms locked around him like the medieval Iron Maiden.

"Can't breathe," he informed her.

She released him, grabbed his shoulders, and bounced excitedly, her smile a mile wide, lighting up her green eyes. He smiled a little, unable to be too grouchy in her effervescent presence.

"You're all tense and hard," Abby said, poking his shoulders and chest with a frown. "You can't have been on vacation, then, or you'd be all soft and relaxed—and you're not tan, or do you not get tan, Gibbs? Where have you been, anyway? Tony is going to wet himself when he sees you—well, no, he's already probably done that since everyone keeps yelling at him—"

"Abby," interrupted Gibbs, slightly frightened by the onslaught of words. He turned her around and gently prodded her towards her computer. "Results on the Peterson case," he demanded.

"_How_ are you already caught up on that?" she demanded.

He gave her a look, as if asking how she dare doubt his staying abroad the cases ability.

He pointed at the screen.

She did some clicking.

"I think Ducky knows where you were," she said conversationally, pulling up some files.

Gibbs snorted dismissively.

Abby shot him a look. She widened her eyes and turned her lips down.

"I can keep a secret, boss-man. I like secrets," she coaxed.

He pointed insistently at the computer screen. He did not have time for messing around, he had to buckle down on these cases and leave things clean before he went back to Israel, and Abby was wasting her time trying to be read in on his situation with Jenny.

It was his second day back, and he did not see the necessity in telling Abby, but he would be willing to bet DiNozzo really had wet himself with relief upon seeing his boss. The other agents had apparently been rather short and unhelpful with him.

That annoyed Gibbs not because he gave a crap about DiNozzo's feelings, but because the other guys wouldn't have dared screw with his Probie if he'd been here.

"Sharing is caring, Gibbs."

He turned to her and gave her a good look, then leaned closer.

"Abs," he said in a quiet voice. "Rule Four. The best way to keep a secret is to keep it to yourself, or tell one other person if you must. There is no third best."

She looked over at him an arched an eyebrow.

"So there is a secret?" she whispered.

He once again pointed slowly and authoritatively to her computer screen.

She sighed.

"I guess one other person already knows," she capitulated forlornly.

* * *

><p>It did not take long for the full force or responsibility to weigh on her shoulders. She discovered quickly that having a newborn with Jethro around as back-up and having a newborn when she was completely isolated and alone were two very different things.<p>

It did not take her a week and a half to notice the difference, but it took about that long for it to begin to wear her down. Mossad had no concept of maternity leave, and she barely gave a thought to the notion that she should be given one. She had a job to do—she had two jobs to do, and she had to do them alone.

Presently, she was in a good place—a place where she wasn't struggling just to keep her eyes open. She had a hot cup of coffee sitting next to a calmly burning Patchouli candle, and for once in the past three hours, her baby was _not_ crying.

It seemed that a warm bath soothed Madeleine as well as it did her mother.

Jenny carefully tested the water temperature again before re-saturating the cotton wash cloth she had and massaging a small amount of baby soap into it. She glanced up into the mirror and blew a strand of hair out of her face, wrapping her hand in the cloth and gently rubbing soap bubbles over the arch of Madeleine's foot.

The baby's toes curled and she fidgeted.

Jenny smirked, wrinkling her nose. Madeleine seemed to be unable to figure out if she liked the sensation or not; Jenny watched her in amusement, flicking her eyes to the camera set cautiously away from the water. It was Madeleine's first bath, and she thought Jethro might like a few pictures of it.

Madeleine kicked her foot, splashing water on Jenny. Jenny pursed her lips and laughed quietly, reaching up and putting a gentle hand on the crown of Madeleine's head. She glanced in the mirror again. Ziva was out in the parlor, waiting to engage in some much needed prep for the mission.

Jenny was careful to make sure all of the soap was washed away before she turned off the faucet and picked up a towel. She slung it over her shoulder and picked up Madeleine, picking up the cozy, soft little hooded towel she had purchased a few days ago.

Madeleine fussed, unhappy with the sudden change from warm water to air-conditioned air.

"Shhh," murmured Jenny, slipping Madeleine's arms into the tiny towel and wrapping her up snugly in it. She placed the hood over the baby's head and snickered at the floppy ears that adorned the top.

She held Madeleine confidently against her shoulder and picked up her coffee cup; she blew out the candle and left the baby stuff to clean up later. She had to get to her prepping with Ziva; they were getting a late start, and it was due to the baby.

Jenny was thankful that tonight was a good night, unlike quite a few this week had been. She had thought her schedule would make the infamous sleepless nights induced by newborns nonexistent, but it did not. Turns out, no matter _what_ her schedule was, no matter if she was up days or nights, if she had a moment to catch some sleep—Madeleine objected.

And it was all on Jenny. Tali wanted to play with Madeleine and watch Madeleine—but the baby was just too little, and Jenny refused to allow her out of her sight other than to put her to sleep in the crib. So she slept when she could, but predominantly, she existed on coffee.

"Ari's report on his preliminary op in Bahrain is in Farsi," Ziva announced as her redheaded partner walked into the room.

The lithe, threatening brunette looked up from a high tech laptop, her posture perfect and her eyes speaking of business and business only. She looked overwrought and stressed as well, and Jenny knew it was because a bombing in Gaza had taken the life of a non-Mossad family member.

"I will have to translate it for you," Ziva went on.

"Into English?" asked Jenny, sitting down in an armchair. She shifted, and cradled Madeleine, letting the baby grasp her thumb contentedly.

Ziva shook her head a little in the negative.

"First Arabic, then you will translate it back to me in Hebrew," the Israeli explained. "There is no reason to waste an opportunity to practice your accent and pronunciation. If you cannot look like a Semite, it is best you sound like one."

Ziva gave a small smirk and picked up a remote clicker, pulling up files on Jenny's wide-screen desk-top.

Jenny pushed her hair back. She focused on the files, listening to Ziva's slow, clipped translation, taking in the Arabic, and then finding the correct Hebrew alternatives in her head. Her eyes scanned the atrocities detailed in the files and she subconsciously wrapped her hand around Madeleine's protectively, setting her jaw.

None of these horrors, none of these tragedies that made up the typical day in the conflict-ridden Middle East, had ever struck so close to home as they did now that they could hurt _her_ baby.

* * *

><p>The loud, shrill ringing of his phone was doggedly attempting to awaken him from the sleep he was finally getting after nearly two weeks of getting everything at NCIS back in order. It was some ungodly hour in the middle of the night and for once he was in bed, in the dark, out cold—and he was being dragged out of what <em>was<em> a halfway decent sleep by that damn phone.

He thrust his hand out to the table and grabbed it, fumbling it open. Blearily, he peered at the fuzzy number across the screen and opened it, his head half muffled in the pillow.

"Gibbs," he ground out roughly.

"Jethro?"

Her voice, faraway, shaky, and stressed, woke him up instantly and he pushed himself up on one arm, shaking his head in an effort to clear sleep away. His watch, when he squinted hard enough, revealed that it was three-thirty a.m.

"Yeah," he said, his voice clearer. "Jenny, what's wrong?"

He had talked to her briefly a couple of times since he had left Israel. Both of their schedules were hectic, and he was twice as stressed with work and the constant worry that plagued him about Jenny and Madeleine.

He waited tensely for her to answer.

"Jen-" he started.

"I'm okay," she said, taking a breath. He could hear the baby crying in the background and he blinked, trying to calculate what time it was in Tel Aviv. He rolled over and sat up, rubbing his face roughly.

"You don't sound okay," he noted intuitively.

"I," she started firmly, attempting to reassure him. "Jethro, I can't get her to stop," she said in a rush, her voice shaking again. "She hasn't stopped crying in hours. I've fed her, I've rocked her, I sang to her—I don't know if she's hot or cold or sick, I haven't slept in thirty-three hours and I can't make her feel better and I just—" Jenny's voice broke weakly. "She won't stop _crying_, Jethro," she said desperately.

He blinked, widening his eyes. His first thought was that he was halfway across the world and it was futile to call him for help—and then he realized Jenny was crying, too. He pulled his legs up and leaned forward on his knees, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Jenny," he said calmly. "Jen," he said again, after a moment.

He could hear her trying to control her breathing. She was murmuring distractedly. Madeleine was still crying tiredly in the background.

"What?" she asked sharply. "What do I do?" she asked anxiously.

"Do you think she's sick?" he asked levelly.

"No, I," Jenny paused. "No. She doesn't feel warm, I took her temperature," Jenny stopped again to catch her breath, her voice thick with tears and lethargy. "I don't _know_ what's wrong."

He frowned, the sound of Madeleine crying starting to get to him. He felt angry; he should be there to take the stress off of her shoulders. Madeleine might just want someone different to snuggle up to.

"She's giving me a headache," Jenny said bitterly. "She can't tell me what's wrong, and I'm-how am I just supposed to _know_? The crying isn't helping me, she's—"

"She's a baby, Jenny," he interrupted. "Sometimes you've gotta let her cry."

"I can't _stand_ to hear her cry," Jenny nearly shouted, her voice breaking again. "It hurts me, Jethro. It hurts," she broke off, pulling the phone away from her ear.

"She'll tire herself out sometime," Jethro offered. He tried to sound as unthreatening as possible.

"I'm tired," Jenny said grittily. "I am so tired. I need her to stop _now_."

"Yeah," he said, sighing. "I know, Jen," he muttered. Madeleine continued to cry. "Have you been holding her while she cries?"

"Most of the time," Jenny answered weakly. "She's in the cradle now. I can't—I can't have it next to my ear—I'm just…I'm just watching her cry," she explained, her voice near a whisper.

He grit his teeth, rubbing his hand over her jaw.

"Put the phone in there with her," he said authoritatively.

"Wh—what?" she asked, taken aback.

"Put me on speaker," he said. "Let me talk to her, you're so strung out your voice isn't soothing," he remarked bluntly. "Let me talk to her," he repeated gruffly.

"You think it'll work?" Jenny asked skeptically.

"You got any other ideas?" he asked.

She made a desperate noise.

"Madeleine," he heard her say softly. "Madeleine, honey," he could barely hear her over the baby's crying; it got louder as she must have set the phone in the cradle. "Listen to Daddy, Madeleine."

He pulled the phone away from his ear a little, completely awake, opening his eyes a little wider. He cringed; if her crying was that impressive through the phone, he dreaded being kept up by it when he was staying with her in a couple weeks.

He cleared his throat.

"Madeleine," he said after a moment, feeling a little more than completely ridiculous. He was talking to a screaming infant through a cell phone from thousands of miles away. "Madeleine, give her a break," he said, smirking a little.

He wasn't even sure if she could hear him. He raised his eyes to the ceiling. Shannon used to talk Kelly to sleep, even when she was a newborn. She would rock her in the nursery and just talk to her, tell her stories about Daddy's job, or old fairytales.

He swallowed hard, thinking of Kelly.

"Hush, baby," he soothed, summoning up the words to that annoying kids' song Kelly liked to hear him sing.

_"Hush, little baby, don't say a word, Daddy's…"_

* * *

><p><strong><em>End of AugustSeptember 2000_**

He was trying to catch a few precious hours of sleep on a plane, armed with his Marine backpack, an actual checked bag in cargo, and a few threats from the usually soft-spoken Noemi that reminded him if he didn't bring her pictures of Madeleine, he would have a very angry, riled up Latina on his hands.

The lights were dimmed in the cabin and all was silent. His flight had left Dulles at nine-oh-seven p.m., and he was about six hours in—half way to Tel Aviv. He should have left early this morning and should have arrived by now, but he'd had to shift the flight to wrap up a case.

This time, he wasn't leaving DiNozzo behind with a mess and all kinds of uncertainties: Morrow had arranged for the Probie to take a rotation on an aircraft carrier for the two weeks Gibbs would be gone; a combined extra bit of investigative training and earning of the sea legs.

Gibbs half wished he could be on the ship to watch DiNozzo squeal.

He looked around at the other occupants of the nearly empty plane. Many were reading by the light of overhead bulbs, or surreptitiously glancing around to spy on everyone else. The flight attendants had disappeared somewhere. It was quiet, and relatively calm.

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. He would arrive in Israel two days before Jenny set off on her top secret operation. His leave time was two weeks, though Jenny was not projected to spend that much time away. Intel he was allowed told that she would only be gone a period of four to seven days.

Time he would get to spend alone with his daughter. He looked forward to that aspect, though not to the idea of being scrutinized by Mossad while he was holed up in that eerie complex. It irked him; made him uneasy.

People needed breaks from high-stress; high risk occupations like Mossad, or the job drove them crazy. He didn't like the idea of his daughter being raised in a cold, dangerous place like that. Hell, he didn't even like the idea of Jenny being trapped there—because that was how he viewed it; she couldn't get out.

She had made that clear.

That was why he was on this flight—because she had to run that damn mission, and he wasn't about to let her leave Madeleine alone with strangers.

* * *

><p>The icy blast of air conditioning that hit him head on when the doors of the Mossad Complex shut behind him was less welcome than one would imagine. The stifling end-of-August heat that pervaded Tel Aviv and Israel was nonexistent in the wee hours of midnight; it was just eerily chilly outside.<p>

He was sure he had upset plans, arriving on a later flight in the middle of the night.

He did not particularly care. He had not wasted time contacting Ziva and organizing alternate plans; he had just gotten on the next available plane. He was considerably late, meaning he only had one day before Jenny left.

He took the stairs quietly and stealthily to her room. He was not naive enough to think that all were asleep here; for all he knew, Jenny could be running a late night mission and be perfectly awake and alert when he walked into her suite.

He was running on empty. He was tired, jetlagged, and tense. With each step, he was more and more eager to hold his daughter. He passed a room near Jenny's, and heard soft, hushed voices in a foreign tongue. One male, one female. He pressed on.

Her door was shut; he removed an access card from his pocket and scanned it; the door opened with a noiseless click and he slipped in. The lights were off for the most part, but he could see. He kept quiet, unwilling to wake her and scare her.

He strode over to her bedroom and looked in, checking on her. She was fast asleep, in jeans and in an unbuttoned oxford, her bra clearly visible in moonlight. He swallowed and started to let her be, when he realized Madeleine's cradle was in the room.

Gibbs approached it, watching Jenny carefully. He bent over the cradle and peeked in, smirking a little when he found the baby staring up at him. She squirmed, her eyes wide and unblinking, bleary and sleepy. She seemed to be content just looking around, letting her mother sleep.

Gibbs reached in and picked her up, holding her close to his cheek. He kissed her temple and her nose lightly, settling her against his shoulder and stroking her back gently. She squeaked and moved her head. He looked at Jenny sharply. She didn't move.

Just as quietly, he slipped out of her room and shut the door, moving back into the parlor. He sat down on the couch and leaned back, his shoulders slumping, wincing at the stiffness in his neck left from the flight.

He shifted and cradled Madeleine in his arm, reaching down and holding her small hand protectively. He smiled. She turned her head towards his chest, nuzzling into him meekly. He tilted his head back, closing his eyes briefly to rest, appreciating her small, comforting warmth in his arms.

He didn't mean to, but he fell asleep.

* * *

><p>He woke up to Madeleine's loud cries and someone's hands gently trying to pry her away from him.<p>

Half asleep and trained to be on the defensive, he made an aggressive noise in the back of his throat, sitting up abruptly and putting an arm around the infant. She cried louder, squirming impatiently.

"Jethro," Jenny said sleepily. She spoke through a yawn. "I need to feed her," she whispered, pulling at his hand again. He swallowed and widened his eyes, trying to blink sleep away. He cleared his throat and gingerly handed over Madeleine, watching Jenny blearily.

"Go back to sleep," she said, yawning again and standing up. He watched her hold Madeleine with one hand and push her own hair back, reaching for a lamp. She flicked it on and he blinked.

He moved forward, sitting on the edge of the couch, and rubbed his face.

"I'm up," he muttered. "I can help."

She snorted.

"Not unless you've begun lactating," she remarked sarcastically. She lifted a brow. "Please tell me you haven't."

He gave her a look, frowning.

"Jen," he growled, almost rolling his eyes. "I know you're tired," he remarked. He knew he couldn't feed Madeleine, he was just offering his services if she needed anything done. She was leaving on a mission in the next thirty hours, she had to sleep.

She hesitated, stroking the fussy baby's back.

"On second thought," she murmured, almost to herself. She crossed the room and handed him Madeleine, disappearing into the nursery.

Jethro held her up and looked at her, shushing her quietly.

"Patience is a virtue, Madeleine," he said solemnly, nodding his head. She continued to whine and protest, clearly unconcerned with virtues and vices so long as she was fed and fed _now_. He saw Jenny re-enter out of the corner of his eye.

"Look," he coaxed softly. "Look, Mommy's back," he informed the baby. Jenny lifted her eyebrow at him, shaking up a bottle gently. She sat down next to Jethro. "What does she have?" Jethro asked, more to Jenny than to Madeleine.

"I have been trying to get her used to these," Jenny murmured reluctantly, holding up the small bottle of milk. "It's not formula, it's mine, but she _hates_ the bottle," she said dejectedly, handing it over to Jethro.

Jethro took the bottle expertly and cradled Madeleine appropriately in his arm, coaxing her to take it. She cried and shifted her head away a few times, nuzzling his chest, clearly searching for something more familiar.

He shushed her quietly, remaining calm, and finally got her to latch onto the bottle, smiling a little as she quieted and stared up at him. He lifted his brow at her.

"Not half bad, is it?" he asked, settling back against the couch. He looked over at Jenny.

"You go back to bed," he said, indicating towards her bedroom with his head. "I've got her."

"You're jetlagged," she murmured, her eyes fixed on the baby.

"Jen, it's only been a week since you called me sobbing," he said tersely. "Get some sleep."

She remained silent and leaned back, propping her elbow on the back of the couch and leaning her temple against her palm.

"She's been sleeping better since then," she answered softly.

He looked up and over slowly, studying her in the dimly lit room. She looked tired, but not absolutely exhausted. There was colour in her cheeks, her hair was not a total mess, and she seemed alert enough. He toyed with the idea of ordering her to bed again, but backed off. He didn't have the energy to start a fight.

"How's it been?" he asked simply, tilting his head at her with genuine interest. They may as well have a conversation while he sat here near two in the morning, feeding his baby for the first time.

It might distract him from the memories of Kelly that were plaguing him, and how intensely this was actually affecting him.

"It's been," she began shakily, drawing in a deep breath. "It's been hard," she decided on, as if admitting it to herself. "I assumed it would be easy since my sleep schedule is so off kilter anyway; I thought I wouldn't have the problems other new parents have, but it didn't matter; when I was asleep, she was awake," Jenny remarked.

Jethro snorted in amusement.

"Babies have a cruel sense of humor," he stated, tilting Madeleine's head up a little.

"She likes baths," Jenny said quietly. "They calm her down. I was so tired one night I kept her in bed with me, and after that it was difficult to put her down in the crib," she explained. "So please keep her in the cradle or crib while I'm gone."

Jethro looked over at her, nodding thoughtfully. He titled his head, looking her over unassumingly.

"How you holding up?" he asked pointedly.

She glanced up at him, narrowing her eyes a little.

"Remember that stakeout in Marseille?" she asked.

He lifted his eyebrow suggestively.

"Yeah," he answered in a drawl, as if reminding her that their current situation made it extremely difficult to forget that they had spent half of their partnership having sex. She smiled a little sheepishly.

"After that," she murmured, "by the sixth night, when I said there was no way I could possibly be more tired, sore, irritable, or close to bursting into tears?"

He nodded soberly. That stakeout had been just over a week long, and the few precious moments they should have been sleeping, they'd been at each other like starved rabbits instead of resting. The heat and exhaustion had been so miserable by the end whatever they had almost ended right in the attic where it started.

She leaned forward a little, smirking tiredly.

"This beats it," she acquiesced.

He smirked back. He checked on Madeleine, making sure she wasn't choking or rejecting the bottle. She stared up at him, content, her eyes wide and blue and unblinking. Jenny pushed her hair back.

"I almost lost it a couple days ago," Jenny murmured quietly. Her voice shook a little. "I mean really lost it, Jethro."

He looked over, and squinted a little, watching her silently. He nodded, indicating he was listening.

"I was so tired I was sick. I hadn't eaten, I had fifteen minutes in between jobs, and she had been crying all morning. I was rocking her in the cradle," Jenny paused and shook her head, turning her eyes into her palm. "I just stared at her. I didn't want to see her anymore. She was looking up at me and I just wanted her out of my sight where I couldn't hear her again or I'd _shake_ her—and I started berating myself for even thinking I could do this, for having her in the first place," Jenny paused, taking a deep breath.

Jethro stared at her, giving her a minute to collect himself. He was willing to place the blame for her uncharacteristic spilling of emotions on her fatigue, but he listened. She looked up at him, biting her lip firmly, as if waiting for him to deliver some harsh judgment.

"What changed?" he asked bluntly.

Jenny's eyes watered slightly.

"She smiled at me," she answered softly, smiling a little herself. "In four and a half weeks all she did was cry and sleep and eat…and then she smiled at me."

Jethro arched his eyebrow at Jenny. She looked down at Madeleine and smiled gently.

"All she had to do was smile?" Jethro asked skeptically. "That's _it_?" he scoffed lightly, rolling his eyes. "_You_ won't be good at discipline, then," he remarked snidely.

She glared at him, her mouth dropping open a little. She punched him gently in the arm, but not hard enough to disturb his feeding of the baby.

"As if _you'll_ be able to tell her no," she teased. "I would bet thousands that your Kelly only had to bat her eyelashes at you."

Jenny said the words flippantly, and then she blanched, biting the inside of her lip sharply. She cast her eyes down, unsure if she should have mentioned his daughter. He watched Madeleine silently, his knuckles paling as he gripped the bottle.

Madeleine gave a small cough and he gently took the bottle away, handing it wordlessly to Jenny. He lifted her to his shoulder, rubbing her back soothingly.

"Shh," he murmured absently. Jenny got up slowly, set the bottle aside, and fetched a cloth towel, handing it to him for his shoulder. She sat back down, a little further away, perched uncomfortably on the edge of the couch.

"Jethro—" she began quietly.

"It's okay, Jen," he said, looking over at her pointedly. He met her eyes and nodded firmly.

And he meant it. It really was okay. He had to adjust to her knowledge of Shannon and Kelly, but he found it did not bother him to hear her mention them. He continued to rub Madeleine's back, thinking about the first few weeks they had Kelly at home.

He felt Jenny watching him, but he ignored it. He turned his head and kissed Madeleine's temple, muttering to her softly. He missed Kelly.

He looked over at Jenny mere minutes later and discovered she had curled her legs up around her knees on the couch and fallen asleep, her head tilted back and her mouth half-open. He glanced up at the ceiling, furrowing his brow.

He rested his cheek against Madeleine's head and watched Jenny sleep.

* * *

><p>He might have been less forceful in his insistence that Jenny leave Madeleine to him for the majority of the day had he known she was going to turn into a total basket case in a situation in which she could hear the baby but not see her.<p>

He had Madeleine on the changing table and was staring in annoyance at the outfit Jenny had handed him to dress her in. Madeleine was making noise to amuse herself, occasional loud squeaks that drew Jenny's attention. Jenny was supposed to be in the bath, relaxing.

"Do you want to wear this?" Jethro asked conspiratorially, holding up the dress. It wasn't pink—Jenny would never do pink—but it looked complicated to put on. Baby clothes had apparently changed a lot, and it was starting to frustrate him.

In fact, all baby appliances had apparently morphed into unrecognizable objects since nineteen-eighty-four. It was all different and more…high-tech, he figured. He noticed all this due to the fact that in the four weeks he had been absent from Israel Madeleine's nursery had gotten a lot…fuller.

Apparently, even in the midst of her hectic life, Jenny still managed to shop.

Madeleine stared at him, waving her fists happily. He looked at the outfit and shook his head.

Instead, he picked her up and wandered over to his bag, crouching down and rummaging through it to pick out some of the things he had brought with him for her. Not that he would broadcast that to Jenny. He did not want to hear her comments about him shopping for baby clothes.

"This one's easy," he muttered, returning to the changing table.

He raised his eyebrows at Madeleine and smiled.

She squealed.

"Jethro?" Jenny ventured loudly.

He glared at the wall.

"She's fine," he answered patronizingly. He rolled his eyes and started to dress her, gentle with every movement. He had forgotten how like dolls infants were when it came to dressing them.

He could not for the life of him explain Jenny's tendency to worry. He was in the next damn room. He was Madeleine's _father_. Even if the baby was crying, he was perfectly capable of handling it.

He had never expected her to be like that.

Madeleine babbled a string of nonsense, yanking her hand away from Jethro.

"Hey," he muttered, taking the hand back. He wrinkled his nose, smirking a little.

"Is she giving you trouble?" Jenny asked.

"Your mother is harassing me," Jethro muttered, adjusting the short little sleeves on the green dress he had dressed Madeleine in. She stared at him unblinkingly and turned her head away fitfully, starting to fuss.

He picked her up, walking over to the window and cradling her.

She made noise like she was going to start wailing.

"Jethro—"

"Jen," he said loudly, before she could start. "You're supposed to be relaxing."

"She sounds upset."

He rolled his eyes and walked out of the nursery, standing closer to the cracked bathroom door.

"She's fine, Jenny."

He heard her sigh, annoyed.

"Just come sit in here," she said tiredly.

He stared at the door.

"You are naked in there," he remarked.

She snickered.

"I think you've seen me naked before," she answered airily. "If I remember correctly. It was probably before Madeleine was born—"

"Jenny," he growled warningly.

"Jethro, you're too traditional sometimes," she retorted edgily. "I'm covered in bubbles, you can't see anything."

He hesitated and then pushed the door open, poking his head in. She was indeed submerged in soap and water; her head leaned back tiredly against the tile wall. She lifted an eyebrow sarcastically and waved patronizingly.

It was hot and stuffy in the small bathroom; he made a face and came in, leaving the door open.

She looked at Madeleine critically.

"What is she wearing?"

"Clothes."

Jenny gave him a narrow look.

Jethro glanced around, ignoring the look, and decided to sit on the floor. He crouched down and leaned against the wall slowly, holding Madeleine in his lap. He tilted her towards Jenny a little so she could see the dress.

"Where did that come from?" Jenny murmured with a furrowed brow.

"I bought it for her," he answered gruffly.

She looked at him blankly, and he was concerned about her lack of reaction until he realized she was trying very hard not to smile. She bit her lip and started to grin.

"Don't do it, Jen," he warned.

"Aww," she said softly, lowering her nose and chin into the water as if hiding. She lifted her head and grinned, still biting her lip. She tilted her head, a few thick strands of red hair falling over her shoulder. She smiled at Madeleine, and visibly relaxed.

"You don't trust me with her?" he asked, arching a brow a little aggressively.

She looked over at him soberly, her smile fading.

"It isn't that, Jethro," she said softly. She pursed her lips and lifted a shoulder a little. "I'm not used to anyone else handling her," she went on. "It's just been me. It is difficult to adjust to the idea of someone else being there for her when _I'm_ trained to respond to every sound she makes."

He nodded and looked down, pulling his knees up a little and holding Madeleine up against them. He rested his palm on her silky hair and stroked little circles, watching her watch him. He held one of her hands, slipping his finger into his fist, and looked over at Jenny.

"You don't trust Ziva to watch her a minute?"

"Ziva won't touch her," Jenny answered shortly.

"Tali?" he pressed, remembering the excitement the teenager had over Madeleine and Jenny.

Jenny looked straight ahead, and then down.

"She wants to. She's a sweet girl, responsible," she allowed. "But I can't. Not for now."

He nodded subtly, averting his eyes from her. He wasn't too thrilled to be sitting in here while she bathed. It reminded him of better times, and much as he hated it, she was still unbearably attractive to him—and right now, she was wet and flushed on top of it.

Good thing the baby was here.

"What's the plan?" he asked mildly.

She licked her lips, watching him as he held Madeleine. The baby girl's eyes were droopy and fluttering sleepily. Jenny smiled affectionately and swallowed, clearing her throat. She pulled her knees up and pushed her wet hair back heavily.

"I need to catch Ziva in the gym for one last training session," she said clearly. "We have a final briefing with the Director, and then," she paused, lifting both shoulders. "And then we have eight hours."

"How long?" he asked. He had asked, admittedly, at least three times, but he kept hoping she had a more definite answer.

"I don't know, Jethro," she answered quietly. "No longer than a week."

He made a noise in the back of his throat that could have been derisive, unsatisfied, angry, or all three. She wasn't quite sure. He snorted and gave her a sharp look, holding back whatever he might have said. She knew he was worried. She knew he disapproved. She held back any bitter words she might say, swallowing them down hard.

"Do me a favor," she said suddenly, unable to resist the instinct to snap at him. "Stop looking at me like that. Stop judging me. This isn't easy—you know damn well it isn't _easy_. You were in the military," she glared at him sharply. "If you were told to go, you went. It didn't matter if you would miss a school play or a birthday."

He narrowed his eyes at her, very close to informing her that it was not the same thing—but he had to admit, there was not much justification in saying that, for the two things were similar in many aspects.

"Hand me a towel," she requested quietly, nodding at the sink.

He reached forward compliantly and snatched one down, handing it to her. She shielded herself with it and stood up, wrapping it quickly around her middle. It darkened, soaked with water, and she pulled the plug on her bath abruptly, stepping out of the tub.

"That defeats the purpose of the towel," he remarked snarkily, now faced with being eyelevel with her long, smooth legs. She nudged his foot roughly with hers, turning her nose up.

"I didn't want to disrupt your delicate sensibilities by standing up naked," she retorted, arching here eyebrow. "Give me a minute," she said, nodding at the door this time. He grumbled and forced himself to get up, wincing at the strain on his knees.

He placed Madeleine against his shoulder and ducked out of the bathroom; she left it slightly ajar behind him, going about getting dressed.

Jethro wandered about the living room, taking in Jenny's moderately reformed parlor. There were still electronics, sealed files, gadgets, and office supplies neatly unorganized all over, but the Sprite cans and Ginger Ale bottles had been replaced with coffee mugs, coffee cups, tea leaves, and the occasional empty tumbler.

She still had shoes thrown in the corner, and sweaters lying over the backs of chairs, but now there were infant caps and booties strewn in the mix, a baby blanket or two, and an empty bottle.

The place looked like a well-kept site of a pretend stakeout that she was acting out with her kid.

"What do you tell your team when you disappear?" Jenny asked, waltzing out of the bathroom in a terry robe.

She ran a cotton towel over her drying hair, wringing it out and lifting a brow at him when he turned towards her.

"How do you know I don't tell him about you?" he asked bluntly.

She gave him a skeptical look.

"Jethro," she admonished quietly. For one, it had been agreed that this was not to be common knowledge and for another thing, she had an inkling that if he had kept Shannon and Kelly from those closest to him, he would do the same for Jenny and Madeleine.

He eyed her mysteriously for a minute.

"It's just DiNozzo," he answered gruffly. "He has his own theories."

Jethro knew, through Abby's faithful gossip that DiNozzo's _theories_ ranged from secret sniper missions with the CIA to astronaut training. He still wasn't sure why astronaut training was a plausible theory.

Jenny's brow furrowed.

"You don't have a full team?" she asked, setting her towel down. She looked at him curiously. She knew well that he had been promoted to head of the Major Crimes Response Team post-Europe, which consisted of a four-man team.

It seemed unlikely that Europe was nearly a year in the past and he still only had one guy.

"Morrow's really dragging his feet," she remarked.

He shrugged, noncommittal.

"I appoint team members," he said.

She cocked her head at him.

"You've had nine months," she pointed out skeptically. She bit down on her lip, feeling uncomfortable. She wondered what was keeping him from making choices.

"Had other things on my mind," he said pointedly, pointing conspiratorially to Madeleine's back as if he were trying not to let the baby know they were speaking of her. Jenny smiled a little, rolling her eyes slightly.

"You aren't going to find someone perfect," she remarked. "You need more back up."

"First choice didn't want the job," he answered flippantly. She held an elastic in her mouth, scraping her hair back to pull it up.

"Who was that?" she asked absently, her words slurred by the band between her lips.

He didn't answer directly, so she glanced up, here eyebrows meeting her hairline as she waited, staring at him. She removed the band from her mouth and deftly tied it around her damp, red hair.

"You," he answered slowly, looking at her as if that were obvious.

She knew it was her. She didn't know why she had asked. Perhaps she wanted to hear him admit to it; to validate her skill by saying he would still pick her. She smiled a little and flicked her eyes downward.

"It never would have worked," she murmured. God, it was such a loaded comment. She came towards him a little, reaching for the baby. "I'm sure this DiNozzo is capable."

"You're a hard act to follow, Jenny," Jethro said with quiet gruffness, handing Madeleine over gently. She bit her lip again and took the baby, smoothing her silky down of hair and kissing the top of her head fondly.

She raised her eyebrow at Jethro over Madeleine's drowsy head.

"Oh?" she asked sweetly. "You don't think DiNozzo would have your baby?"

Upon seeing the utterly horrified look on his face, she tilted her head back and laughed.

* * *

><p>He awoke abruptly, alerted by the sound of something dropping heavily on the table next to him.<p>

"I apologize," Ziva David said clearly, her dark eyes meeting his as he sat up and looked around suspiciously. He waved his hand gruffly and swung his legs off the couch, blinking to awareness.

He felt as if he had just gone to sleep mere moments ago. He looked around. Ziva turned a light on blithely, silent, watching him with a masked face. He could not hear the baby, and Jenny was not in the room.

"Where—"

"She is saying goodbye," Ziva answered promptly. "She did not wish to awaken you. I took it upon myself to do so," the Israeli said simply, pointing at the bag she had slammed so loudly onto the coffee table.

He smiled wryly, standing up.

"Hurry her along, if you will," Ziva requested tightly, inclining her head at the nursery.

He nodded slightly, but he really had no intention of rushing Jenny. If she wanted to stand for fifteen minutes with the baby, he would pretend not to notice.

He walked in the nursery and turned the light on. Jenny glanced up, narrowing her eyes as a shield against the bright light and blinking rapidly. She was dressed in dark clothing, black all over, her hair pulled back in a tight, austere bun at the nape of her neck.

"She awake?" Jethro asked quietly.

Jenny nodded slowly, turning towards him.

"She's falling back to sleep," she whispered. "I fed her one last time, so she's good for a couple hours."

He came up closer, looking down at the drowsy baby. He reached in and rubbed her stomach gently, smiling.

"Did Ziva wake you up?" Jenny asked under her breath.

"Nah."

"She did, too," Jenny corrected, arching an eyebrow. "She feels I am stalling."

"Are you?"

Jenny nodded, tilting her head at the baby. She sighed quietly and turned. He gestured for her to hand Madeleine to him, taking her comfortably and holding her against his shoulder.

"It's a no contact mission," she murmured.

"We've been over it, Jen," he said, nodding slowly. "She'll be fine," he said.

She laughed mirthlessly. She half-lunged towards him, sidling up to his shoulder. She stroked the crown of Madeleine's head, pressed against the side of his body, and pressed light kisses to the baby's cheek and nose where they peeked over Jethro's shoulder.

Madeleine mewled at her sleepily; the kittenish noises Jenny seemed so fascinated by. He didn't say anything, just rested his palm on the baby's back. He knew the feeling all too well. There was only solace in knowing that Madeleine had no clue what was happening; she was not hanging onto Jenny and beginning her not to leave.

"Bye, baby," she said softly. "Keep your father in line, hmm?"

She pressed her hand around Madeleine's gently and then stepped back some, eyeing her apprehensively.

"I'm leaving," she said firmly. "Don't follow me out. Stay in here," she said seriously, reaching up to push back her hair. She stopped when she remembered it was all pulled back. She stared at him for a minute, then bit her lip, and turned abruptly on her heel to leave.

He stepped back suddenly and reached out, grabbing her around the waist.

"Jenny," he breathed, standing in front of her.

"What?" she asked shortly, her eyes wide and anxious with surprise. All of her defenses were up, and she eyed him guardedly.

"Watch yourself," he said earnestly. He released her waist and touched the side of her face, leaning towards her gently. "Come back safe," he ordered in a very low voice. He kissed her cheek benignly.

She just nodded. She stood still for a split second, and then brushed past. He didn't turn around to see if she looked back, but he guessed she didn't. He turned his head a little to look at Madeleine, watching her sleep.

It was just them, now.

* * *

><p>Though he lived alone in a bare bones, nearly empty house where he spent all of his free time with an inanimate object he was building himself, Gibbs had never actually felt like a hermit before now.<p>

Granted, he was not watched constantly, whether he knew about it or not, in his own home, nor was the United States in any way as dangerous as even the most fortified complex in Israel, yet it was disconcerting to be so confined to the one suite for the unspecified time he would be caring for Madeleine while Jenny was gone.

The only applicable word to this experience was _surreal_, which was exactly what he was groggily thinking about as he stared in exhaustion at the ceiling. He was not sure how long he had been asleep this time, but it was nothing to write home about.

He had sprawled out on Jenny's bed, drawn in by the smell of her, and fallen asleep. As he dragged himself up now to tend to the crying baby, he wracked his brains trying to remember if Kelly had cried this much. It was irking him to slowly realize that he didn't recall it being like this because Shannon had done nearly all of the work.

He glanced upward as he entered the nursery, narrowing his eyes at some unseen entity.

"Point taken," he muttered, speaking to karma or his wife—or both. He trudged over to the crib and peered in, smiling a little when he caught sight of Madeleine squirming and crying insistently.

He picked her up, looking her in the eye. He smiled tiredly, hushing her quietly. He was getting used to this routine. Her crying, no matter how loud it was, did not bother him; as long as he could figure out what was wrong and soothe her, the noise was nothing.

He cradled her in his arm and walked over to the window, glancing outside.

"The sun is out," he announced calmly, tilting his head at her. "You wake me up to tell me that?" he asked, noting it had in fact been dark when he collapsed on Jenny's bed. "Or are you hungry again?" he murmured, walking over to the mini fridge Jen had installed in the room for the sole purpose of keeping bottles out of the Mossad officer's kitchens.

She was apparently wary of what they might be used for.

Madeleine was still fussing.

"I can hear you," he informed her; arching an eyebrow as he crouched down to grab one of Jenny's pre-prepared bottles. He was getting dangerously close to having to use formula; she had been absent for four days now.

He knew it was going to be a battle to get Madeleine to take the bottle in the first place; Jenny had not been kidding when she said the baby hated it, and it seemed to make Madeleine twice as angry to discover that she was not only being denied Jenny, but Jenny's breasts as well.

He just resigned himself to patiently fighting with her until she accepted that it was the only way she was going to get her lunch.

He had not spent much time outside of Jenny's quarters, aside from to get food from the kitchen. He had taken Madeleine outside for a walk once or twice, but stayed in the courtyard; it was hot, and he had no knowledge of any other terrain.

He was left in peace for the most part, though he knew good and well that Tali David was assigned to watch him, and she was doing it subtly, from afar. He pretended he didn't know, but it amused him.

"Good girl," he murmured to his daughter when she finally latched on to the bottle and quieted.

She met his eyes and stared at him, content, while he fed her, and he smiled. He cleared his throat; waking up a little more the longer he stood there and fed her. He walked slowly back to the parlor and turned on the coffee maker, intent on making some when Madeleine was done.

He threw a small towel over his shoulder as she finished and set the bottle aside, carrying her to the changing table. Jethro walked around with her for a minute and then lay her down, changing her diaper and clothes and taking her back with him into the parlor.

"Daddy," he informed her slowly, bending over to buckle her into the swing Jenny kept in the parlor, "is going to make some coffee." He smiled and went about making the coffee. He kept glancing over his shoulder to check on Madeleine.

He poured a cup of coffee, and then sat down on the couch to the case files Director Morrow had sent to him to keep him abreast of his work in DC. Jethro drank the coffee slowly and flipped through everything.

He was stalled momentarily by something on the forensics reports, and narrowed his eyes, leaning closer.

_Gunpowder residue, blood spatter, both conducive to…Hi Gibbs! We miss you. I have a big hug for you when you come back…where are you?...the weapon found at the scene of the crime…_

Jethro raised his eyebrows and smirked, sitting back. A message from the Goth, inserted directly into his copy of the reports. It almost made him consider giving her a call. He looked over to check on Madeleine and straightened considerably at a flash of movement near the doorway.

He tensed.

The door shut, and Tali David gave him a bright smile.

"Good morning," she greeted brightly.

He gave her a suspicious look.

"How did you get in here?" he asked shortly.

"I nicked the master key from Aba's hiding place," she responded, tossing long hair over her shoulder. "He will suspect Ari, thus I am safe for near four hours," she said conversationally. She set a schoolbag down on the floor and zeroed in on the baby.

"Oh, the little darling," she cooed softly. "I cannot get over her pretty little eyes!" the teenager turned to Gibbs amiably and pointed to the coffee table. "Do you mind terribly if I study in here? Jenny allows it, oftentimes when she needs some more hands to help soothe Madeleine."

Gibbs shook his head slowly, nodding at an arm chair. He reached for the coffee and turned back to the files in front of him.

"Makes it easier for you to keep an eye on me," he drawled pointedly.

She glanced at him as she was sitting down, placing a book before her on the table.

"That it does," she agreed with a small smile, her eyes sparkling a little. He focused back on his case files, his curiosity piqued somewhat. Tali seemed to always be studying—studying, or participating in some Mossad operation. It was odd; from one extreme to another.

Tali spread some school books out in front of her quietly, and leaned forward on her knees, admiring the baby.

"You want to hold her?" asked Jethro absently; noting the doe-eyed look the teenager was giving the baby.

"Sadly, I must finish my work first," she answered promptly, turning to it. "It is Jenny's rule, though I believe my sister told her to enforce it."

"They aren't here," Jethro pointed out mischievously. He looked over at Madeleine. The baby was staring at Tali, her blue eyes wide and alert. He was somewhat surprised; he had expected his daughter to be nodding off to sleep.

Tali laughed quietly.

"All the same, it is an exercise in resisting temptation," she mused.

He gave a shrug and turned to his work.

Tali certainly did not speak like a sixteen-year-old. She didn't behave like one or in any way resemble one, as a matter of fact, but he figured that might a result of being raised in Mossad by Mossad. The one thing that stood out about Tali David was the bright innocence that graced her features.

She did not have the starved, animalistic, hostile look that glinted in the eyes of her brother, nor did she have the stony, guarded, and almost hollow look of Ziva's. Yet she didn't seem naïve, either.

She almost reminded him of Abby.

"What are you studying?" he asked mildly.

Madeleine stretched, arching her body, and whined quietly, her face scrunching up unhappily. Jethro watched her a minute, gauging whether or not he should pander and pick her up. He decided to see if she'd settle or start screaming.

"Oh, this and that," answered Tali. She tapped the book in front of her. "Nanotechnology and computational physics," she said, then pointing to another. "And cultural traditions in South American nations."

He stared at her blankly.

"Apples and oranges," he remarked dryly.

She smirked.

"It is essential to keep up with developments in technology, and I hope to be ahead of the game one day," she explained. "Many Mossad operations are located in South America, as that is where numerous Nazi human rights terrorists fled post World War two."

Jethro nodded, glancing at Madeleine again. She was not calming down, she was fussing. He pushed the files around and stood up, taking her out of the swing. He sat back down, eyeing Tali's things again.

She nibbled on the edge of a pencil, and made a neat mark in one of the books. She lapsed into silence, completely focused on the work in front of her. Jethro held Madeleine to his shoulder and soothed her under his breath, rubbing her back gently.

The baby quieted down, and then began to fuss again. He frowned, watching Tali, unable to understand how she could study over the noise Madeleine was making.

"She does not bother me," Tali said, as if reading his mind. She did not look up, but made some more marks. "When Ziva and I were very young, Ima taught us to block out the sounds of gunfire and screaming. There was much fighting where we lived," she said.

"_Ima_?" Jethro asked gruffly, still trying to quiet the frustrated baby.

"_Mother_," translated Tali quietly. She flipped a page, falling into silence again. It was very normal and yet oddly surreal for the Mossad-operative teenager to be studying as any typical teenager might be.

"What happened to your mother?" Jethro asked, freezing in his position as Madeleine suddenly quieted and made soft, content sniffling noises against his shoulder. He slowly leaned back against the couch.

Tali glanced up sharply, her mouth twitching. She looked back down at her books.

"She died when I was small," the girl answered. The corner of her lip turned up. "Cancer," she said ironically.

Jethro did not say anything. He had expected Tali to attribute her mother's death to something more violent, considering, and it seemed unfair that something like cancer would take her life when the dangers of living in the volatile Middle East had not.

He gently shifted Madeleine to his arm, cradling her, and watching her fall asleep. He pressed his palm against the side of her face, clenching his jaw protectively. She sighed, and blinked drowsily, her fist resting against his chest trustingly.

"May I ask you a question, Agent Gibbs?" Tali ventured unassumingly.

He looked up and she was staring at him, her chin perched on her knuckles, one eyebrow raised. He gave her a guarded, suspicious look and nodded shortly. It might be considered fair, seeing as he had asked some rather personal questions of her, but he highly doubted he would answer anything she asked.

"Would you tell me the story? Jenny refuses."

"Story?" he asked gruffly.

She nodded.

"The story of your love affair," she elaborated, smirking. Her eyes lit up. "Jenny is most tight-lipped about it. She will not—ah, how do you say? Allow the cat in the bag?"

"Out of the bag," he corrected. He narrowed his eyes at her, studying her young face, wondering what Jenny had told and what she had kept mum about. "There isn't a story," he said shortly, and with some bitterness.

"There is a story to everything," she responded intelligently. "You will tell it to your baby one day."

She looked at him, chewing on her pin and tilting her head. She flicked her eyes to Madeleine and lifted a brow.

"If you will not oblige me either, answer me another," she said slowly.

He very nearly glared at her and she giggled, before quieting down. She took the pen out of her mouth.

"Do you still love her?"

He did not move at the inquiry. A muscle in his jaw tightened slightly and his eyes darkened just a little. She looked at him expectantly, a small smile gracing her lips. He did not answer. He could not find the words to speak even if he had wanted to answer that question.

It just silenced him; took him aback—because he had not had time to even think about it in the past few months, certainly not the past few days. He knew his resentment of her had evaporated the moment he held Madeleine, but love was different. Love—

Tali made a soft noise under her breath and smiled, turning back to her work with the little grin attached to her mouth. Jethro stared at her blankly, still stroking his daughter's soft cheek gently.

He figured Tali got _her_ answer from his silence, he just did not know what that answer was.

* * *

><p>The breath was knocked out of her as she slammed against the pavement, her fall broken by the struggling body under her. Unable to breathe, and quickly becoming lightheaded, she wrestled him back, using teeth, nails, anything to keep his gun off of her, and heard a crack as she crushed the back of his skull into the pavement.<p>

He shouted, vile words in his native tongue, and she went for the gun, breaking his wrist in a moment of adrenaline-charged desperation. She gasped, choking for air, praying for Ziva to make her move, if she hadn't been compromised.

Her hand shook on the trigger of the gun as she forced the barrel up into her target's neck, growling at him as best as she could in Arabic. It was almost too dark to see his face. She heard footsteps behind her and someone grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back.

She screamed out, injured, and surprised.

For a horrifying second, she thought that was it. Then the air whipped past her cheek and her arm was let go; the second attacker dropped like a ton of bricks and before she had a chance to shoot the bastard she was still on top of, another whistling sniper shot took him out, too.

She dropped the gun shakily and rolled away from the bodies, shaking, breathing in and out harshly. She crawled into a corner, checking her boot for her knife, fumbling for the necessary tools she would need.

Minutes later, there were quick footsteps again, and Ziva crouched next to her, pulling a rag down from her mouth, her eyes alert and charged. She looked like a dark guardian angel, her sniper weapon slung over her back.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, speaking in rapid Hebrew. She reached behind Jenny's head and began to feel with her fingers, urgent, but gentle. "Jenny. How badly are you injured?"

"I am not," Jenny answered in forced Hebrew, struggling to make it sound legitimate. "Bruised, that is all."

Ziva pulled back her hand and revealed the blood staining it. A pale look crossed her face.

"We must go."

"What happened?" Jenny choked out. She shook off Ziva's help violently.

"I do not know," Ziva answered tightly. "Something went wrong."

"I was compromised," Jenny snarled.

"I am aware," Ziva answered sharply. She shot a sideways glance at the redhead, narrowing her eyes critically. "You should have shot him. Moved faster. You hesitated."

Jenny picked up the gun she had been fighting over and slid it delicately into the bag Ziva kept for evidence. Her eyes flashed bitterly; she met Ziva's eyes and then looked away, giving no answer or no justification. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly.

The Israeli crouched closer, looking up and around, her eyes narrow. She touched Jenny's head again gingerly, pressing her tongue against her teeth. She applied a slight pressure and the redhead winced.

Ziva helped her up. Both women remained silent, a certain feeling of confusion and broken trust looming in the darkness. Each knew that something had gone wrong. Neither knew what it was.

Jenny straightened, wincing at the pain that shot through her spine. She ground her teeth together and ignored it. It occurred to her vaguely that Jethro was going to have one hell of a magnificent fit when he saw her, but she was concentrating too hard on remaining stoic to worry about his state of mind.

She had missed being executed by the tiniest millisecond, and though that had happened before—it came with the job description—it hadn't shaken her quite like this those other times.

* * *

><p>There was always a feeling of desperate, disoriented breathlessness that came with being jolted out of sleep by a nightmare, and within in the dark, unfamiliar confines of Jenny's quarters at Mossad, those emotions were exacerbated two-fold.<p>

He jerked covers away from his legs, untangling himself, and sucked in a deep breath, trying to find a regular pattern of breathing again. He ran a hand over his face and swiped at sweat on his forehead—and then he got out of bed distastefully and bolted from the bedroom, pacing tensely into the parlor and flicking on the lights.

Jethro shot a look at one of the clocks. It was a few hours before daybreak, early. Three hours since he had fed Madeleine and laid her down in the crib. He listened intently, but she made no sound.

He blinked, paused, and stared into the nursery, hesitating briefly before he went in, finding his way using the softly glowing nightlights. He swallowed hard and gripped the side of her crib, peering in at her protectively.

She looked perfectly fine; peaceful. She slept on her back with her little hands curled into fists by her head, her chest rising and falling rhythmically. He was reluctant to wake her up if he didn't have to; she seemed so content in her slumber, but he had the sudden thought that he would lose his mind if he didn't pick her up and feel her breathing right this moment.

That is what he did. Gently, and carefully, as he really did have no desire to wake the baby up, he lifted her out of the crib and cradled her snugly against his chest, retreating slowly to the rocking chair. As he sat down, she wriggled sleepily and her brow winkled as she adjusted to the new sensation.

Her eyes fluttered, but she slept on, and he let out a breath of relief; relief that she hadn't started crying, and relief that she was alive and breathing.

His nightmare had been about Kelly. Not Shannon and Kelly, this time, but just Kelly. And Kelly had been playing in the yard with Madeleine. And he had been watching, in uniform, from the desert—but it didn't make sense. And he couldn't remember most of it now, he could just remember that both of them had been gone, and he had only been able to hear Shannon screaming—or Jenny, he couldn't discern which woman was screaming. And he had woken up alone, thinking someone had hurt the baby.

He watched her sleep, though, living, unharmed, oblivious to his stress, and he slowly 'got a grip', relaxing a little with every movement of her small chest. Little things that he had never bothered to understand were coming back to him now; the way Shannon used to get fidgety and nervous if Kelly slept for too long, or if she made no noise over the monitor. He had thought it silly, then, but now it made sense—as did Jenny's seemingly illogical need to feel the baby breathe the first few nights she had her home.

He lifted Madeleine closer to his face and kissed her temple, touching his forehead softly to hers. He felt a rush of annoyance, of anger, when he realized his hands were shaking just a little, and his eyes were throbbing from emotional repression. He tilted his head back and set his jaw, stroking Madeleine's forehead with his thumb gingerly.

He was tired, and he couldn't afford to lose sleep, and this rocking chair, cushioned as it was, did nothing good for his back. Though Jenny had asked him not to, he stood slowly and took Madeleine with him into the bedroom.

Still quiet, and careful not to wake her, he lay down on his back with her on his chest and stared at the ceiling. He rested his palm on her stomach and his other next to her mouth and nose, to feel her breathe, and he closed his eyes, resting a little easier. In the back of his mind, in a place he preferred not to go right now lest it consume him with apprehension, he hoped her mother was safe.

* * *

><p>Ziva David was neither quiet nor respectful as she entered her suite at the Mossad Complex. She kicked her door shut behind her, eyeing the room suspiciously. She threw two of her guns and a knife onto her desk and slipped quietly into one of the back rooms.<p>

Tucking her hair behind her ear, she sat down next to her sleeping sister on the bed, reaching over gently and pushing Tali's hair back to wake her.

"_Tatelah_," she whispered. "Tali," she spoke a little louder, switching to English.

One of the teenager's blue eyes popped open and she sat up abruptly, nearly ripping a page out of the book she had fallen asleep on.

"Ah, Zee!" she cried sleepily, flinging her arms around Ziva's neck. She hugged her tightly, murmuring gently in Hebrew, thanking God her sister was safe.

"Tali," Ziva murmured sharply, leaning back a little. Her eyes were solemn. "_Eiofah Ari_?" she asked earnestly, her dark eyes alert, demanding. Tali tilted her head. She lifted one shoulder.

"_Ani Lo Yoda'at_," she said, sitting up straighter. "_Hakol beseder_?" Tali asked worriedly. It was strange for Ziva to be so abrupt in her return greeting. The sisters were close, and Tali was used to more smiles and laughter from her elder sister.

Ziva looked at her with a grave, guarded stoniness in her eyes. Tali held her gaze, puckering her lips in inquiry. Ziva shook her head a little.

"Think where he might be, little sister," Ziva said, choosing English again. "I _must_ speak with him."

* * *

><p>He was leaning against Jenny's desk, case files again spread out on the coffee table, slowly eating lunch as he eyed Madeleine sleeping in the swing when he heard the lock click and the door open.<p>

He turned a little sharply towards the door, his eyes narrowing. The idea of someone walking in without warning, unless it was Tali—and he knew it wasn't her; she was off sleeping—set him on edge.

He stopped eating abruptly when he saw the mess of red hair. He relaxed, naturally aware that she was not a threat, and set his bowl of food down loudly, straightening up. Jenny shut the door quietly and flung her backpack across the room heavily, watching it land with a dull thud against the wall.

She straightened, setting her shoulders back, and tucked her hair behind her ears, remaining silent. There were long, inflamed fingernail marks on her neck, and a dark bruise just below her ear spread out ominously along her jaw.

His expression darkened considerably. He felt the old, instinctive rush of anger that evolved from seeing her injured—whether it was as his partner, or his lover—and the drive to avenge that hurt.

She swallowed, he watched her throat move, and she gave him this _look_, and a small smile, as if she knew the chauvinistic thoughts that were running through his mind. There was a flash of irony in her green eyes. It was as if she were waiting to see how he would react to seeing her.

And he—he did not know how to react.

So finally, she spoke:

"Where is Madeleine?" she asked, clearly, and very meticulously.

He moved, his brow furrowing. He must have been standing in her line of sight. Jenny let out a quiet breath and came forward, crossing her arms. She stood next to him and bit her lip, watching the baby sleep a moment.

She made a move as if to reach down and pick her up but she stopped.

"I don't want to wake her up," Jenny said softly. She touched her mouth with her fingers, and leaned forward, studying the baby. That is when Jethro noticed the injury on the back of her head.

"Son of a _bitch_," he swore, without meaning to react so. She froze, beginning to turn her head.

He lunged forward, shaking his head sharply to indicate she shouldn't move. He knew she must have just returned, but he was stunned that she had not acquired at least a _little_ medical care before coming to him.

There was blood, dried, dark, and black, matting her hair together in the back, and pressing it down to reveal the sharp gash that penetrated her scalp. Clearly someone had managed to stay the bleeding and prevent the wound from troubling her, but it was not a pretty sight at all, and he found himself reaching out to touch it gently, pressing her hair down around the wound.

"It isn't as bad as it looks," she said carefully.

He made a hissing noise between his teeth, ignoring her. It probably did look twice as bad as it was, considering the lack of cleanliness, but it triggered a response that spurred him to turn his back on the proper, arms-length protocol they had established since Madeleine had forced them to be in each other's lives.

"What happened?" he growled, taking her upper arm gently and starting to pull her towards the bathroom.

"Stop," she barked, twisting away. She winced, and her cheeks turned pale. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

"That needs to be cleaned," he said, nodding at her head with a dark look.

She reached up and touched her head gingerly.

"It's fine. I'm fine," she said. She turned back to Madeleine hesitantly. He watched her, nettled by her behavior. She knelt down by the swing and reached out to stroke Madeleine's forehead, tilting her head. Her shoulders slumped.

He noticed a subtle, poorly controlled shaking in her fingers and wrist.

Madeleine stirred, smacked her lips, and did not wake up. Jethro walked over and crouched next to her, reaching out to grasp her shoulder again.

"Jenny," he said quietly.

She looked at him, as if annoyed that he would draw her attention away from the baby. He cocked his head, indicating the bathroom. She needed to clean up. He wanted to look at the injury better—and he wanted to see where else she was hurt.

"Will you just give me a moment with her?" she asked in a hoarse voice, looking at him as if he were cruel.

He shook his head.

"No," he said shortly.

She moved her mouth soundlessly, angrily. He pulled her up, gently, but with significant force, and she shook him off again, reaching forward to push his arm away. He put his hand over hers, squeezing her fingers. She glared at him, harshly, fiercely.

He looked back, immoveable by her emotions. She looked somewhat like she had come back from war—and that was something he could relate to. He understood it. There were no doubt some variations in her feelings compared to what his had been years ago after –but back then, he had needed a minute to switch from soldier to father.

And right now, she needed a minute to switch from operative to mother.

* * *

><p>"Thank you," Jenny said quietly, glancing up as she heard the clink of glasses. She ran her palm once more time over Madeleine's stomach and came away from the cradle, sitting down on the edge of the sofa.<p>

Jethro handed her a tumbler with a dash of bourbon and nodded firmly, eyeing her critically. She gave him a slightly annoyed look and lifted the glass to her lips, looking back at the cradle. She had showered, seen one of Mossad's medics, and was comfortably clothed in cotton shorts and a t-shirt, her hair brushed out and away from the cleaned injury.

She had a concussion, and he was tasked with keeping her awake for at least a little while, though he knew she was exhausted, drained, and stressed.

"She's bigger," Jenny remarked quietly.

He shrugged a little.

"Nah, Jenny," he soothed. "It's only been six days."

"Her nails are longer," Jenny said sharply. "Her hair is, too," she told him. "She grows so _fast_," Jenny murmured.

She took a drink, licking her lips slowly.

"She could scratch herself," Jenny murmured. "I should cut her nails." The redhead leaned forward and tilted the bottle she had set on the table up, eyeing the amount of formula left. She frowned slightly and looked up at Jethro. She set the bottle down. There was a little more than she liked still in the bottle.

"Was she good for you?" Jenny asked wryly, cupping her tumbler in her palms.

"No," Jethro answered seriously. "She was terrible. Out of control behavior. I'm disowning her," he deadpanned.

Jenny smirked, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Why, when she exhibits personality traits that are so obviously yours?" she retorted sweetly, tilting her glass towards him. She cracked a soft smile. She bent her head forward and looked up at him and for a second, she was glancing at him through her eyelashes the way she used to, with a smart smile and unguarded irises, and he held that gaze for a moment.

"You want to talk about it?" he asked after a moment.

She reached up and rubbed her mouth silently, turning her head back to stare at the cradle. She shook her head a little, looking down into the glass of bourbon. Then she lifted one shoulder nonchalantly.

"Something went wrong," she said carefully.

He grunted suspiciously. She looked at him.

"It's Mossad. Something always goes wrong," she said sardonically. "There are disasters and there are reasonable successes, but nothing ever goes just _right_."

He held his tumbler in his palm, standing where he could watch her from a safe distance. He could still see Madeleine sleeping in the cradle. He balanced his protective gaze between the both of them.

"You were right," she tossed out bitterly. "I should not have gone on that mission."

"It doesn't matter."

"Don't take the high road, Jethro. Rub my face in it."

"You did your job."

"God," she hissed, glaring at him. "You insufferable bastard, how can you change your tune like that? Do you know how you made me feel when I left?" she set her glass down and pushed it away.

She grit her teeth and pressed her knuckles to her lips. Her hand still shook a little when she sat still. He set his jaw, narrowing his eyes, and didn't say a word. He glanced at the cradle, away from her, and smiled a little.

"Jen," he said in a low voice, and nodded at the cradle.

She lifted her head, and then stood, unable to see from her spot on the crouch. She crept over and peeked in on Madeleine, watching as the baby stretched her arms up, shivered, and yawned, settling back down to sleep, oblivious to her parents.

Jethro smirked, glancing over at Jenny.

She folded her arms across her stomach, her cheeks paling. She looked sick for a minute, and then she bowed her head a little. She reached up to touch her forehead, her fingers trembling, and pressed her lips together, her forehead wrinkling.

"You okay?" he asked sharply.

She shook her head.

"My cover was compromised," she whispered, her voice hoarse, and laced with tears. She sniffed, her nostrils flaring, and ran a thumb under her eye vainly. She let out a heavy breath. "I haven't ever felt terror like that," she gasped. "Ziva just said, 'we're dead' and started shooting, and that was it. I thought that was _it_," she was talking through her teeth, quiet and strained, as if she were trying to keep it from Madeleine.

She ran her hand past her ear, her lips moving, and he stepped closer, reaching for the hand. He grabbed it, stopping her movement. She wrapped her fingers around his and looked up at him.

"A bullet grazed my ear, Jethro," she hissed. "I felt it. I thought I wouldn't ever see her again I—what kind of mother _does_ that? She deserves better."

"What do you think you did wrong?" he asked tensely, glaring at her. He didn't like that kind of talk. She hadn't abused Madeleine, she hadn't neglected her. She clearly loved her.

"I hesitated," Jenny gasped quietly, fear flaring up in her eyes. She tried to wipe tears away with the hand he was holding but he wouldn't let her move. "I had the bastard down, I had my gun at his neck and I…" she shook her head. "Ziva made the shot."

He nodded slowly. He had seen Jenny hesitate before. She didn't like to take life, and it did not matter whose. He had never once thought that was a weakness in her. It didn't matter that there were some people whose lives he would gladly end, he thought her the better person for hating to extinguish life at all.

"I wanted to kill him," she growled. "I wanted to see his blood all over the concrete, because I was holding him down, choking him, thinking of what he had done and what he planned to do and how people like him made the world dangerous for Madeleine—I wanted him dead. I haven't ever felt rage like—um, it was primal, protective," she shook her head, her voice breaking.

She looked up.

"But I _couldn't_ shoot him," she choked out. "Because even feeling that, I looked down and I thought—what if he has a little girl at home? And she never gets to see her Dad again because of me? And she doesn't know that he's evil, she just loves him—I hated him, I wanted him dead, but I didn't want to kill him—how can—"

Jenny broke off, yanking her fist out of Jethro's grip. Her eyes flashed angrily.

"How can I feel both ways? It doesn't make any sense. It is completely irrational—it's illogical. It's _different_. This mission was completely different—I can't, I can't comprehend," she stopped.

"Jen," he said gruffly. He reached out and placed both hands on her neck. Then he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and hugged her tightly, resting his chin on the crown of her head lightly, so it wouldn't put any undue pressure on her wound.

It was like she had been waiting for him to break that annoying boundary of personal space. She grabbed his biceps tightly and stood still, pressing her face directly into his chest. It felt like she was crying, if he judged by her breathing and the movements of her shoulders, but he didn't comment on it.

"You have to adjust to it," he muttered.

It had taken time for him to change the way he worked in the Marines after he married Shannon, and again after Kelly was born. Each change had meant another person he had to think of, more reasons for him to be cautious. It had gone from his possessing a reckless, cavalier attitude to his thinking through every move—he had to make choices. In a split second, he had to decide if helping his buddy dismantle an IED would mean he never saw Kelly again.

Jenny would have to learn the same. She would have to learn it on her own, how to balance it and manage the web of feelings and chaos.

She lifted her head, her temple knocking against his chin. Her eyes were rimmed red and she looked tired.

"You get any closure?" he asked neutrally. "You know what went wrong, who blew it?" he asked, his voice gaining a sharper edge.

She looked bitter.

"It isn't clean cut, not like NCIS," she answered caustically. "We don't always know what the others involved in the operation were to do. Something might have been screwed on Ari's part, or Director David could have laid shaky groundwork," she explained in an undertone. "I can't say much else, Jethro."

His mouth tightened. His eyes hardened and he studied her sharply, committing her words to memory. He hated the sound of such murky, tangled, uncertain mission work. It no doubt gave rise to missions that needn't be as dangerous as they were. He bristled, his gut churning at another mention of Ari Haswari. He kept running into the name—and the man—in ways that made him wary.

Jenny covered her nose and mouth with her hand and let her head fall against his shoulder heavily, her eyes closing. She evidently lost her resolve to keep him at arms length and just reveled in the familiar comfort.

Still unsettled by what she had said, he pressed his palm to her forehead, smoothing her skin, checking for fever. He lowered his lips absently and kissed her temple, letting his mouth linger.

He tensed somewhat, glancing over at his sleeping baby. It occurred to him almost instinctively that he had to do what he had to do—and when she found out; it was going to piss Jenny off.

* * *

><p>He made sure things stabilized concerning Jenny and the baby before he decided to turn everything upside down again. No—perhaps that was an exaggeration. Leroy Jethro Gibbs was not setting out to stir up trouble just for the almighty hell of it; he had a record to set straight before he went back state side.<p>

The last thing he wanted right now as to fly thousands of miles back to DC and begin a separation that _could_ last more than a year, but seeing as he had to, he was hell-bent on making sure things were as safe as could be around here before he left.

He discovered quickly that the single IDF guard outside of Director David's door, though a formidable fight, was easily incapacitated when caught off guard—and the young man had certainly not been expecting an older, ex-marine to attack him unprovoked.

What Gibbs did was not really attack, but it was enough to get the man out of the way so he could effectively barge into Eli David's office and noisily interrupt whatever was going on.

The Mossad Director barked a curse of some sort as his door flew open, and he stood up sharply, planting his hands on his desk. He looked shell-shocked to see Gibbs standing there rather than someone else, though it seemed he had anticipated someone else.

Ari Haswari sat calmly in a chair before the Director's desk, turning his head just slightly at the sudden intrusion. He barely flinched.

"Agent Gibbs," spat Director David, straightening formidably. "This is a serious breach of security and of my trust," he ground out sharply.

"I don't give a damn," Jethro growled, taking the door and shutting it carefully. David snapped an order as if calling to the guard, but Jethro made a point of closing him out. He glared across the room at the Israeli, waiting for him to say something again.

The more he had thought about whatever mission Jenny had just carried out, the more anger had gripped him. Mossad did a shoddy job of seeing to the safety of its operatives, and he wasn't going to have it.

"Explain yourself, Agent Gibbs," demanded David.

"I don't think I have to," he retorted dangerously. "You almost lost your officers, Eli," he growled. "Your own daughter—I think you see why I'm pissed—"

"What concern of yours is my daughter?" interrupted the Director violently. "You have no right or permission to enter my office in this manner. You have taken a liberty I cannot forgive—railing against a mission you know absolutely nothing about—"

"Shepard was compromised," snarled Gibbs. "You know anything about that? Or is your agency that bad at special ops?" he sneered provokingly.

"Agent Gibbs knows nothing of our inner workings," Haswari said silkily, standing up. "He is blinded by weak affection for his woman." The Arab-Israeli smiled coldly. "Quite _touching_, do you not think, Eli?"

Gibbs crossed the room and took Haswari by the collar, turning him, and slamming him against David's desk. Eli David gave a shout and stood tall, but he barked in Hebrew at the door, and no one came in. No guards interrupted.

He glared at Haswari harshly, viciously, digging his knuckles into the other man's throat. David watched in silence; and there was silence in the room.

"You screw the pooch on your end, Haswari?" asked Gibbs dangerously.

"I have not a mark of imperfection on my records," spat Haswari.

Gibbs eyed him sharply. He sensed there was something wrong here, something very wrong. He had clearly interrupted something between Haswari and David.

"If _they_ were compromised, _you_ should have been," Gibbs snarled.

"That is enough," David said in a low, authoritative voice. "Agent Gibbs, there is no place for your accusations here. You are severely lacking in knowledge of Mossad operations. You do not understand how things are done, and you are overreacting."

Gibbs let go of Haswari. He turned to Eli David, eyeing him critically, refusing to back down from the older man's hardened, threatening gaze.

"The Mossad uses people as weapons," he said in a low voice. "You erase humanity," he said. "I understand how you do things," he asserted venomously. "You take risks, you're good, but you move too fast. And things get messy," he looked at him angrily, falling silent to get the point across.

"You deliberately put Shepard in danger," he growled. He knew the Director had, and Eli David had done it to _batter_ Jenny psychologically, to test her ability and make sure she was still a useful tool once she had the baby.

Eli David held his gaze, his face almost expressionless. He sat down in his chair, waving his hand at Haswari sharply. Slowly, and with a sour look, Haswari slithered out of the room. Gibbs tilted his head, putting his tongue between his lips warningly.

"If you jeopardize her safety—or my daughter's again—I will have her _reassigned_."

He said 'reassigned', but there was much more of a threat in his voice. If something happened to his family and he found David in anyway responsible, he would kill him. He would not hesitate, in the same way he had not hesitated with Pedro Hernandez.

"I am not sure you have that kind of power, Agent Gibbs," David said silkily, his eyebrows going up stonily.

"Try me," growled Gibbs.

Gibbs had enough to pull to have Jenny removed from a hazardous situation if the need were imminent, no matter how much she might hate him for it. NCIS did not jeopardize the lives of innocents in the way Mossad did. If Eli David wanted to use his daughter as ammunition in an endless war so be it, but he'd be damned if his family would be thrown in harm's way.

There was a tense, brittle moment of silence, each man sizing the other up for authority and strength.

And Eli David let out a low, sardonic laugh.

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs," he said, almost pleasantly, leaning forward on his test. "I think I should like to work with you sometime."

And in some twisted way, it was Eli David's way of offering a truce.

* * *

><p><em>-At the end of this chapter, Madeleine is about a month old (give or take a week). In case it was unclear, her birthday is August 1st, 2000. <em>

-_Alexandra_


	5. Chamesh

_A/N: Thank you for waiting patiently as I am spacing out updates. I hope this makes up a bit for the lack of new NCIS tonight. This chapte takes us through Madeleine's first year._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Five<strong>_

Jenny Shepard took advantage of a rare quiet night in her Mossad Complex suite to add some decorations to the nursery. There were things she had bought that she had not yet found time to place around the room, and she wanted a warmer feeling for Madeleine. She wanted a more personal, familiar touch.

It was hard to achieve something like that when one lived in a building guarded by electric iron fences that was seen as a cemetery to the public eye and was full of intrigue and violence to the private one.

She had fixed a cloth-and-ribbon covered keepsake board to the wall above the changing table. It was the same green that lined Madeleine's dark wooden crib and Jenny thought it matched well with the very pale, olive-sage coloured walls and the thick-cream trim she had made Jethro bedeck the room in. She was tentatively adding splashes of purple, yellow, and dark blue. The nursery looked a little like a blossoming garden.

Jenny liked it in here. It was soothing.

She glanced over her shoulder to see if the baby was still sleeping. Madeleine was; she could be seen through the bars of the crib. Satisfied, Jenny returned to slipping pictures under the ribbon on the board, strategically angling them so they would come to be a prominent picture in Madeleine's curious, wandering eyesight.

She knew that Madeleine wouldn't understand that the picture of the proud, elderly man in US Army Colonel attire was her grandfather, or that the smiling, brown-haired woman with crinkly kind eyes was someday going to be a very frequent babysitter. But she hoped that if Madeleine grew up with these pictures in sight, she would come to know that these people meant something.

The pictures of Noemi and Jasper Shepard were not quite as important as the pictures of Jethro, hence the reason Jenny was having a difficult time choosing which photos of her ex-lover to pin up. She did not have many snapshots of Jethro; he was obnoxiously camera shy, and many of the ones she did have featured him looking unreadable and glaring at the camera.

She didn't particularly want Madeleine to think her father was _mean_.

Jenny snorted slightly, smirking. Except Jethro _was_ mean.

The redhead tilted her head and held up one of the pictures, tapping it gently with her nail. It was not even a picture she had taken. It was one of Ducky's; a crime scene photo that was taken out of the boredom that came with repetitively photographing a body.

But Jethro was smiling in it. And she was in it, too. She looked to be shaking her head, her NCIS hat knocked back and dangling from its loop around her ponytail. He held her shoulders, keeping her at arms' length, and was smirking like the devil.

And Ducky had the _nerve_ to pretend he was none the wiser about their _relationship_.

Jenny slipped the photo up into the criss-crossed ribbons, situating it next to a picture of Jethro walking towards her, scowling, from the _Louvre_, and a picture of him moodily drinking coffee outside a broken-down restaurant in Prague.

She pressed her palm over the picture and studied the effect of the collage. Her father, Noemi, Jethro, Ducky—important people in her life, all represented. She had put up some pictures taken of her favorite places and things as well—DC cherry blossoms in bloom, Versailles Palace, the Eiffel Tower, Italian beaches.

She was just indulging herself, really. Madeleine was asleep, unawares, unconcerned, not even three months old. It was almost a relief that she was too young to know that she kept having to say goodbye to Jethro. Jenny used to cry herself to sleep at night whenever the Colonel was overseas with the Army, even more so after her mother had left.

Jenny stared at the candid picture of herself and Jethro. It had been before they were sleeping together—only days before, but before all the same. She didn't know what had been so funny.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and folded her arms across her chest, walking towards the crib slowly. She blinked, drawing in a deep breath through her nose. She leaned over the crib, stretching her arms out lightly along the edge, and then reached in and rested her palm on Madeleine's stomach.

"Do you miss him, Madeleine?" she asked in a murmur.

Jenny rested her cheek on her palm, watching the baby sleep.

She often asked herself the same question.

* * *

><p>Doctor Donald Mallard washed and dried his hands vigorously, disposing of his paper apron and placing his protective face mask away for taking care of later. He leaned on an autopsy table across from his friend and beamed, reaching for the silver-haired agent's wallet.<p>

"Let me see, let me see," he mused happily.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs slowly and deliberately opened his wallet, figuring it was safe to show off a little in the privacy of autopsy—even if the very location would induce a fit of protests from Jenny.

Gibbs handed two folded photographs to Ducky and watched as the medical examiner looked at the pictures of Madeleine.

"My, my," Ducky said, removing his glasses and squinting. "She is absolutely beautiful."

"I know," Gibbs responded bluntly.

Ducky glanced up and lifted his eyebrows.

"It might do you well to learn some humility, Jethro," Ducky pointed out lightly.

Gibbs made a face. He pulled the photo Ducky had finished with back towards him and eyed it protectively before slipping it back into his wallet; he waited patiently for Ducky to finish with the other.

Ducky clicked his tongue affectionately.

"I should like to meet her," he sighed, handing the photo back. "How is Jennifer handling all this?" he asked, concerned for his female friend.

Ducky noticed that Gibbs immediately looked less receptive; it seemed he was comfortable talking about the baby yet harbored an aversion to talking about Jenny. They were private, solitary people—Ducky knew that about them. However, he sensed that Gibbs' reluctance came from hurt feelings and bad blood leftover rather than a respect for privacy.

"She's good," he answered in a very vague way. "You talk to her," Gibbs reminded him, arching a brow. Ducky nodded. He had spoken to Jennifer one or two times since Gibbs had confided in him, but he knew good and well that she was one woman who would never admit—at least not to him—that she was having trouble.

"Infants are a major adjustment, Jethro," Ducky said. "I cannot imagine it is easy for her."

Gibbs snorted and arched his eyebrows.

"What do you know about it, Duck?" he asked lightly. It clearly wasn't meant to be cruel; Gibbs had a point. Ducky had never experienced that major adjustment. Ducky shrugged his shoulders, smiling.

"It is not as if you relate in anyway, either," Ducky pointed out logically. "Jenny is alone with the baby. You, in a very detached manner, are experiencing fatherhood for the first time."

Gibbs winced.

Taken aback, Ducky frowned. He realized he had said something very wrong, but he was not sure what. Gibbs looked stony, suddenly. Replacing his glasses, Ducky tilted his head, looking down at the photo Gibbs was holding limply.

Gibbs seemed oblivious to Ducky's presence. He placed the photo flat and started at it, looking distinctly troubled.

"Jethro, are you all right?" Ducky asked earnestly.

The doors to autopsy swung open with a flourish.

"Boss," squeaked a frazzled-looking Anthony DiNozzo, the look on his face comical. He looked as if he could not decide whether he wanted to hug Gibbs or start crying—or both.

Silently, Gibbs covered the photo with his palm and slid it towards him covertly, slipping it into his wallet.

"Fine, Duck," he said gruffly, turning brusquely to DiNozzo.

"What've you got?"

* * *

><p>Jenny Shepard squinted and looked closer at the computerized graphics in front of her.<p>

"There may be a weakness," she leaned forward and extended her finger. "Here."

Next to her, Ziva David poked her head forward, studying the spot on the building's schematics.

She snorted, and shook her head.

"No, no," she murmured. "They will want us to assume that is the weakness. It is the obvious weakness, and it will be fortified," she explained.

Jenny blinked. She cocked her head, and then glanced at Ziva sheepishly.

"I know that. I was seeing if you knew that," she responded. Ziva smirked. The brunette and the redhead redirected their attentions to the complicated floor plans. Ziva murmured something quietly in Hebrew; Jenny answered. Both were cautiously aware of the teenager in the room.

"You know I speak Hebrew," Tali David chirped up brightly.

Ziva straightened and glared at her sister.

"Well then, we shall switch to Russian," she snapped.

"My Russian has gotten quite good of late," Tali answered primly.

Ziva scoffed at her.

"We will switch to German, then. You know nothing of German," Ziva turned abruptly back to Jenny and said something about the schematics. Jenny blinked at her with wide eyes.

"Ziva, I don't speak German," she said blankly.

Ziva glared at her.

"If you are protecting her ears, make her leave," Jenny said callously.

Ziva shook her head.

"She is occupying your child," the elder David responded. She pointed at the baby swing. Jenny looked over.

Tali was, indeed, serving as the current distraction from fussing for Madeleine. Tali sat on the floor before the infant swing, her hand clothed in a large, fluffy elephant puppet. Madeleine's big, liquid blue eyes were fixed on it in fascination.

Jenny smirked.

"Let her be, Ziva, she isn't even paying attention to us."

Ziva snapped her fingers and pointed at Jenny.

"You are mistaken," she said, glaring at her sister suspiciously. "No one ever thinks little darling Tali is paying attention. That is _precisely_ how she knows _everything_."

Jenny just arched an eyebrow.

"It is true," Tali sighed, as if it were some burden. "It is how I know Ziva has slept with a Gentile."

"I will kill you," threatened Ziva, her face turning pale.

Tali giggled.

Jenny raised her eyebrows solemnly.

"Sleeping with Gentiles," she clicked her tongue. "That's serious stuff, Ziva."

Ziva glared at her, brooding.

"At least I did not let my Gentile punch me up," she responded snippily.

"'_Knock'_," Jenny corrected. "And I _let_ him do no such thing. It was more of a mutual, unwitting cessation of the implementation of—"

"Responsibility?" Tali piped up.

Jenny glared at her.

"Birth control," she finished through gritted teeth.

Tali and Ziva looked at each other.

"Same thing," they decided in unison.

"I'm outnumbered," muttered Jenny, turning back to the computer.

"Oh, I do not know," Tali murmured, wriggling the puppet. "Are you on your _Ima's_ side, Madeleine? Do you support your Mama?" she asked in a high voice, scrunching up her nose.

Ziva looked at her like she was insane, and returned to the screen with Jenny.

Jenny was pointing out another part of the map.

"If we can find the wiring for the security systems within these walls," she began hesitantly.

Ziva nodded, picking up on the thread.

"We can shut down the systems using an operative inserted through the electrical company," she said.

"He would have to look like an Arab," Jenny murmured.

"We are in the Middle East. Everyone looks like an Arab."

"That isn't true. I don't look like an Arab."

"Well, you are an American."

"Ziva, you're making this difficult."

"Ari looks like an Arab," Tali said.

Ziva and Jenny fell silent. They both looked at Tali, neither willing to respond.

"Why do you look at me so?" Tali asked innocently. "I mean no insult to Ari, but it is true. His mother was Arab, and he looks like one. He looks hungry and angry."

"Tali," admonished Ziva sharply. "Do not say such things."

Tali looked at Ziva intently. She said nothing in response and blew her bangs off her forehead, turning back to her play with Madeleine.

"Silly adults," she cooed, with a lisp to her speech. "They are grumpy, yes? They need a break from their silly icky jobs," she continued to babble in primitive, high-pitched words to the baby.

Jenny, attempting to focus, glanced back, frowning a little. Ziva sighed in frustration.

"Perhaps we have been at this too long," she said tightly.

Jenny tilted her head at the screen.

"Say _yes_," Tali babbled. "Yes, Ima and Zee-Zee are too seeeerioussss," Tali made a grumpy face and stretched out her words dramatically.

Ziva and Jenny both turned to stare at her.

"Zee-Zee?" Ziva asked skeptically.

"You expect her to say 'Ziva'?" Tali scoffed.

"I do not expect her to speak at all!"

Tali moved the elephant puppet stubbornly and made it kiss Madeleine's nose.

"You show her, Madeleine," she simpered. "She's just jealous you get alllllll my attention."

"Tali," Jenny said, closing the computer. Her voice sounded strained. "Stop talking to her like she's a dog."

Tali looked stunned. She frowned, and looked at her elephant puppet and then at Madeleine, and up at Jenny.

"I do not understand. In America do you speak to dogs as if they are babies?"

"No," Jenny shook her head, getting up. She bent over and picked Madeleine up, holding her against her shoulder and rubbing her back. "No, what I mean is, I don't like the baby talk," she tried to explain, wincing at the hurt look on Tali's face.

"But she is a baby."

"I know she's a baby," Jenny said. "But hearing people talk to her like she's an idiot makes me cringe. It doesn't make her understand anymore. It's okay to just _talk_ to her."

"Everyone coos at babies with baby talk!" Tali said, standing up. She looked very earnest and comical with her elephant puppet still clothing half her arm. "Are you saying you do not change your voice to soothe her?"

"I don't have to, I'm her mother."

Tali sighed.

"You make my head confused, Jenny," she sighed. "You are the strangest of new mothers."

Madeleine fussed a little, squirming on Jenny's shoulder. Jenny stroked her hair gently and shrugged, smirking a little at Tali. She had never understood why women seemed to be reduced to babbling nonsense at infants. Regressing to a vocabulary that made no sense and was highly irritating to the ears did nothing to teach babies the mechanics of speech.

Jenny held Madeleine away from her face and smiled, pressing a kiss to the baby's temple.

"I will ask the Director what he thinks of planting someone inside," Ziva said quietly.

"You know, I have seen Aba coo at a baby," Tali announced loudly.

"You have not," Ziva said immediately.

"I have _so_," responded Tali.

Jenny grinned listening to them bicker.

"Be glad you don't have a sister," she said conspiratorially to the baby. She almost got away with saying it nonchalantly, until she remembered Jethro's little girl. His _other_ little girl. Kelly—Madeleine _did_ have a sister.

Jenny bit her lip; she suddenly felt a pang of…something. Guilt, melancholy? She wasn't quite sure—but it made her want to call Jethro. If he missed Madeleine anything like she had while she was away, then he was suffering.

* * *

><p>"Madeleine," Jenny whispered, smiling when the baby turned her head with interest toward the voice. "Madeleine!" Jenny said happily, smiling widely. She patted her hands together gently and pointed at the cell phone between them. "We're calling Daddy," she announced.<p>

Madeleine stared at her, focusing on her mother contently. She kicked her legs a little, holding her head up curiously. She smacked her lips. The phone rang, and Jenny frowned at it. It had already rung five times.

It had been a while since she had spoken to Jethro, but she had spoken once to Ducky. NCIS stateside was evidently shorthanded and slammed with cases.

"Jen?" he answered the phone surely and abruptly, the ringtone cutting off like someone had simply flipped a switch. Madeleine stared at the phone, wide-eyed. Jenny laughed. "_Jenny_," he growled.

"Yes, Jethro," she said, her voice turning a little edgy at his tone. "It's me."

He paused. She heard shuffling around.

"You guys okay?" he asked. The same damn thing he always asked when she called.

"Oh, we're—"

"AaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAH!" squealed Madeleine, smiling. Jenny smiled back at her.

"Was that her?" Jethro asked.

"No, it was Ziva."

"Jen," he admonished.

"Of course it was her," Jenny told him, rolling her eyes at Madeleine. "She learned a new sound today. I thought you might want to hear it."

He snorted. She knew it wasn't a derisive or dismissive snort; Jethro was pleased and she could tell.

"What sound?" he asked.

"The "ih" sound. Like in 'it'," Jenny said, peering into Madeleine's eyes. She reached out and wiped Madeleine's mouth, making a face at her. "She kept making it at me while I was working."

"So it's an angry noise?" Jethro drawled.

"Very funny," Jenny responded. "She's listening to you," she said.

Jethro grunted.

"Am I on speaker?"

"Mmm-hmm," Jenny murmured. "She's just staring at the cell phone."

He fell silent.

"Hello, Maddie," he said after a minute. He sounded gruff, like he felt foolish. Jenny lifted her eyebrows and grinned at Madeleine. Madeleine turned her head. She stared at the phone, but she also looked around, as if searching for the voice.

"Madeleine," said Jenny softly. She wriggled her fingers, and tapped the phone. "It's Daddy, Madeleine," she said brightly.

Madeleine babbled a few vowel sounds. She bunched her fists up on the blanket she was lying on and wriggled her feet on the floor.

"Talk to him, Madeleine," Jenny coaxed.

"Ah!" squealed the baby.

"Good girl," Jethro answered. He still sounded a little muffled.

"Jethro, where are you?" Jenny asked, knitting her brow.

"The elevator," he answered. She smirked. Typical.

"Am I interrupting a case?" she asked tightly.

"No," he said sharply. "Jen, you're not ever interrupting," he said firmly. She frowned, hesitating a little. Madeleine laid her head down, wriggling her feet. She patted her fists on the floor. "What time is it there?" he asked.

"Three a.m.," Jenny answered brightly.

He laughed dryly.

"Still not sleeping through the night?" he asked.

"I'm convinced babies sleeping through the night is a myth," she muttered. "We have had a strange couple of days. I'm wide awake right now, too. She'll be hungry in a minute."

Madeleine started cooing to herself.

"Jethro, she's singing."

Jethro listened.

"Can't hear it, Jen," he said, sounding slightly frustrated.

Jenny picked up the phone, moving it a little closer to Madeleine. She lifted her head again, wriggling. She scooted back some. Jenny reached out to touch her back, soothing her a little. Madeleine turned her head to look and seemed to accidentally lose her balance, if that was possible.

She rolled over, sprawling onto her back, half on the baby blanket and half off.

Jenny gasped, her eyes widening.

Madeleine pulled her arms towards her chest and started to cry.

"Uh-oh," Jethro said. "What happened?"

Fumbling with the phone and trying to pick up and cuddle the upset baby, Jenny took a good minute or two to answer. She turned Jethro off speaker and stood up, tucking the blanket around Madeleine and clicking her tongue softly.

"She rolled over," Jenny explained.

Jethro didn't answer.

"She what?" he asked in surprise.

"She rolled over," Jenny said. "She just kind of…flipped. She didn't like it," Jenny added, puckering her lips at Madeleine. She kissed her forehead. "It's okay," she murmured. "You're supposed to do that."

"She _rolled_ over?" Jethro repeated. He sounded offended.

"Is that a big deal?" Jenny asked, frowning. She knew from reading it was obviously an interesting part of motor development, but at this age, Madeleine had done it accidentally and it had upset her, and it did not seem like something to celebrate.

"Any other woman would be hauling out the video camera," Jethro said.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Jenny asked sharply, stiffening. She held the phone and straightened up, frowning. He didn't answer straight away. "She isn't a circus animal," Jenny snapped.

"Jenny," he said slowly. "I didn't mean—" he broke off, getting short with her. "I thought you'd be more excited," he muttered.

Jenny frowned. Madeleine, still fussing, and now turning her face against Jenny's chest insistently, seemed to be demanding an end to the conversation. She felt like she had reacted the wrong way suddenly, and she felt edgy, like Jethro was comparing her with the way—the way Shannon had reacted with Kelly.

"She's fussing, Jethro," Jenny said shortly. "She's hungry. You need to get back to work," she said with finality.

"I can hear her," he said gruffly. "Let me say goodbye."

"She's crying," Jenny said.

"Jen," he said sharply. "That isn't fair. Let her hear me," he said assertively.

She deflated a little, her defenses going down. It was strange for her to hear him claim something wasn't fair, but it hit her hard, too. She suddenly felt despicable for even considering hanging up before he could say goodbye to Madeleine, whether the baby could understand him or not.

She punched the speaker button again.

"Madeleine," she called calmly, rocking her a little. "Madeleine, Daddy wants to say goodbye."

"Goodbye, Madeleine," Jethro said. She still cried. She didn't even acknowledge it. Jenny pulled the phone back to her slowly, shushing the baby gently. She bit her lip. Madeleine started screaming insistently, loud, demanding sobs.

"I'll call, Jethro," she said sincerely.

"Goodnight, Jenny."

* * *

><p>Gibbs gingerly picked up a small, cuddly doll from the cardboard box Noemi had placed on the table in front of him.<p>

"This is what she asked for?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. He gave the doll a distasteful look.

"_Si, Senor,_" answered Noemi with a fond smile.

"This is hideous," Gibbs growled.

"Oh, but they were Senora's favorite when she was little!" Noemi insisted. "Her _Papa_ brought her one after every deployment."

"Hmpf," Gibbs made a suspicious noise and placed the doll back amongst the others. He had seen them before, though Kelly had never played with them. Kelly used to play with the little pony toys and the dolls named after desserts. These were…goblins or gremlins or something.

He didn't like them. They were creepy. Why would Jenny's father have bought her such abnormal, weird little dolls? Gibbs didn't want to send them to Israel, much less take them himself. He would do so if Jenny wished, but he decided he would buy his own idea of a doll for Madeleine.

Not that she needed dolls at the moment. She had just turned four months old, and according to Jenny, the only things she held onto were the buttons on her mother's shirts.

"This is for you, Senor Gibbs," Noemi said pleasantly. She placed a package on the table and lifted a watering can. "It came in the mail few days ago."

He nodded, showing his thanks, and picked up the envelope. He opened it, glancing briefly at the vague international return address. Pictures slipped out into his hand, along with a neatly laminated copy of Madeleine's Israeli birth certificate. He would need it in order to put her citizenship into American records.

He set the birth certificate aside and held up a few pictures. They were mostly of Madeleine in various stages of lying on a blanket or in the cradle or on Jenny's bed while she looked around curiously. She had a bow in her wispy, growing hair in one snapshot, and in another, she was sucking her thumb.

He held up one of her lying on her back in the crib, fast asleep, and smiled. She had snug purple footy pajamas on.

His phone rang, and he picked it up, eyeing the caller ID. He had expected DiNozzo or Abby, calling with a case—that was how it usually happened on the mornings he went by Jenny's townhouse.

Speak of the devil, though; it was Jen.

"Gibbs," he answered, less abruptly than usual.

"Jethro," Jenny answered in return. "How are my plants?"

"Watered," he answered cryptically. "How is my daughter?"

"Sleeping," Jenny answered, and she sounded relieved. "She's had the sniffles, and she hates the nose thingy."

Jethro grunted sympathetically.

"She hasn't been sleeping very well, either," Jenny muttered.

"You tired?" Jethro asked.

"I'm always tired," she answered bluntly. She fell silent and he tilted his head, laying down the pictures and leaning back in her kitchen chairs.

"Anything new?" he asked mildly.

"Little things," Jenny sighed. "She touches my face and ears a lot, plays with my jewelry. She laughs when I laugh, or when Tali tickles her feet—Oh," Jenny suddenly seemed to remember something. "She puts things in her mouth."

Gibbs snorted.

"Her thumb?" he asked.

"Thumb, blanket, rubber duck," Jenny listed. "I tried them all, they don't taste good. I don't know what her problem is."

Gibbs laughed, leaning forward on the table with a smirk.

"You tasted her rubber _duck_?" he asked in disbelief.

"I thought she knew something I didn't," Jenny answered seriously.

Jethro shook his head. He was sorely disappointed he had missed Jenny doing something like that. He broke the silence that had fallen after a moment, asking:

"She's asleep?" it was somewhat repetitive, Jenny had already said she was, but he wanted to make sure. He liked to hear her babbling or squealing in the background when he called, or when Jenny called him.

"Yes," Jenny answered, sounding relieved again. Her voice was soft. "She was tired, poor baby. She had a rough day."

"What happened?" he asked edgily.

"She had some shots," Jenny said quietly. "Polio, Pneumococcal," she listed. She sighed and he imagined her frowning, closing her eyes briefly. Gibbs frowned, hunching his shoulders a little.

"You okay, Jenny?" he asked.

"_No_," she answered emphatically. "The pediatrician had me hold her still and talk to her while he injected her, but she cried and cried. She fussed herself to sleep on the way home."

"Ah," he said slowly. "She'll be okay, Jen," he comforted, slightly awkwardly. "She won't remember."

"_I_ will remember," Jenny said unhappily. "I'm the one who had them hurt her."

"Jenny," he said hesitantly, aware he was treading dangerous water. He had discovered that Jenny became very aggressive sometimes when they were talking about Madeleine; she was still—he thought—struggling with insecurities about motherhood, and she was fiercely defensive of herself. "You didn't make them hurt her. You're protecting her."

She made a scoffing, disbelieving noise.

"Hey," he said firmly. "Jen, when Kelly was five, she scraped her knee falling off a bike. I scrubbed all the gravel out, and it made her cry. She said she wouldn't talk to me again. Twenty minutes later she was asking me for ice cream," he said heavily. "Don't beat yourself up. They're shots."

Jenny didn't say anything.

"Well," she said delicately. "Now I feel ridiculous," she murmured. He shrugged, though she couldn't see it.

She felt silly, whining about Madeleine's shots. He was right, the shots were for her own good, and every infant received shots. They weren't going to traumatize the baby.

"I wish she hadn't gone to sleep so upset," Jenny murmured.

"She'll wake up happy to see you," he offered.

"No, she'll wake up happy to see my _breasts_," Jenny fired back.

"I know the feeling," Gibbs quipped wryly.

She paused.

"Did you just make a joke?" she asked, taken aback. "Leroy Jethro Gibbs, how _dare_ you sexualize the mother of your child?"

He snorted, considering a minefield of retorts to that particular statement.

Jenny laughed. She seemed to loosen up a little.

"Hey—Jethro, did Noemi find that box?"

He grunted, his brow darkening. He reached into the box and plucked out a doll warily.

"Yeah," he drawled. "You sure you want her to have these?" he asked. "They're creepy."

"What?" Jenny asked, sounding sincerely confused. "Creepy? My Troll dolls?"

He nodded to himself, pinching the doll.

"They'll scare her," he said darkly.

"Jethro," she sighed. "Are you serious? Those dolls were all the rage when I was a kid. They are precious," she defended.

"They look like monsters!" Gibbs retorted.

She scoffed.

"They have big smiles and brightly coloured hair; that isn't scary," she said. He could practically hear her rolling her eyes. "I want her to have them."

Gibbs muttered under his breath.

"How soon do you want them?" he relented petulantly.

She considered it.

"No hurry," she said dryly. "She would just try to eat them. You could bring them for Christmas, I'll tell her they're from you," she teased.

"Jen," he growled warningly. He started to say something, and then he broke off, thinking of what she just said. He knew it was December, she knew it was December—the first had been her four-month-mark—but for some reason, he had failed to connect the month with the Christmas holidays.

Now he fell silent.

Jenny cleared her throat.

"Are you—" she started, and broke off hesitantly. "Can you make it for Christmas?" she asked slowly, tentatively posing the question. They had not discussed it. Jenny knew he would want to be there. She sensed that.

He grit his teeth, pushing the pictures of Madeleine around in front of him.

"I can't, Jen," he said tightly.

There was too much going on. NCIS was backlogged in cases, and a maelstrom of internal investigations was going on due to some agents in Norfolk's' failure to be securing warrants properly. He had used too much leave time this year, and if he kept pushing it, he wouldn't have enough in case there was an emergency.

"Don't worry about it," she said earnestly. "I've worked the same job. I understand," she said.

She said it sincerely, but it made him angry to hear it. He half-wanted her to be upset; he didn't want to fight, but he wanted to hear her sound disappointed. Some part of him wanted to see her as much as he wanted to see Madeleine.

"It's going to be a while," he said gruffly.

"I know," she said guardedly. "Madeleine and I will celebrate Hanukkah. Tali will be _thrilled_," Jenny said. "You can have her first Christmas when you get the chance."

Gibbs was busy staring at a picture of Madeleine sleeping. He thought about missing Christmas, and he processed what Jenny said about Hanukkah. He leaned back a little.

"Have you baptized her?" he asked abruptly.

"Have I—" Jenny repeated, caught off guard. "Baptized? Jethro, I haven't had time to think about _that_. I don't even go to church," she answered bluntly.

She seemed worried when he didn't answer.

"Do you want her baptized?" she asked.

He didn't know how to answer. Kelly had been. He and Shannon had always taken Kelly to church.

"Were you?" he asked, putting off an answer.

"Yes," Jenny answered tensely. "I believe Noemi convinced my mother it would save my soul," Jenny did not sound much convinced that it had.

"_You_ want to baptize her?" Gibbs asked.

"Does it matter?" Jenny asked edgily. "Will it make a God love her less?" she asked. "I don't know," she sighed. "But I won't do it if you aren't here," she said firmly.

Gibbs swallowed. He placed his palm over a picture, covering Madeleine up.

"She might want to decide that herself, one day," Jenny said. She made a noise of disbelief. "Jesus Christ, Jethro, we don't know how we're going to raise her," she murmured desperately.

He nodded. She was right. It was completely different than it had been between Shannon and himself—they had established rules, a system of beliefs; they shared ideas about how to teach Kelly and what values to instill.

He and Jenny had only established that they had a baby together.

"We'll figure it out," he said. He glanced at the clock on the stove. "I've got to get to work," he said gruffly.

"I know," she answered grimly. "Sorry she wasn't awake," Jenny apologized. "I'll tell her you miss her," she said, the conversation drawing to a close.

"No," he corrected without thinking. "Jen, tell her I love her."

He heard her swallow.

"Okay," she agreed quietly.

He heard the quiet _click_ of her ending the call.

* * *

><p>For once, she was <em>waiting<em> for Madeleine to wake up.

Jenny rolled over in bed, blinking at the clock. She sighed and rolled back onto her back, staring at the ceiling. She picked up the baby monitor lying next to her and glared at it, willing the lights to start flashing with the baby's cries.

Aside from the fact that she wanted to wake her daughter up and force-feed her, Jenny wanted to wish her Merry Christmas. It may be a typical, December day for the rest of Mossad—many officers were non-religious, and the rest were Jewish, but for a semi-Christian American, it was a holiday, and it was Madeleine's first.

And Jethro had sent a box for her and Jenny wanted to open it.

She wanted to open it _now_.

"_Why_ are you sleeping like this?" Jenny murmured in frustration, narrowing her eyes at the monitor. "I wanted a two hour nap yesterday and you fussed _the whole_ time."

She muttered under her breath.

Jenny sighed and laid the monitor back down beside her. She yawned, and opted to take a moment to breathe. She rarely had those moments anymore. If she wasn't strung out over something to do with Mossad or NCIS, she was on the verge of a breakdown because of something to do with Madeleine—or, more accurately, she was juggling a combination of both.

She rubbed her nose lightly, sitting up in bed.

It had been getting a little easier. She was adjusting; Madeleine was sleeping in a more routine manner—which still didn't help much when Jenny had erratic, inconsistent hours with Mossad.

Madeleine had more of a personality and Jenny was less insecure about her maternity. She had learned it was easier to figure out what Madeleine needed based on instinct than it was to feverishly flip through books and references. Madeleine wasn't a textbook case, she was a baby, and that meant she wasn't going to do the same things as someone else's baby.

Jenny learned to observe rather than to attempt to plan everything according to a timeline.

She turned her head on the pillow.

"Wake up," she hissed at the monitor.

Nothing.

Jenny sighed again, and sat up, swinging her legs out of bed. She pulled her hair over one shoulder and braided it swiftly, not bothering to brush it or fix it. She turned lights on, and opened a few blinds. She started the coffee maker, and sat down in her desk chair, moving aside an onesie, a bootie, and a sealed file marked _Confidential_.

She smirked at the mix of infant and spy paraphernalia. A combination such as that would be considered odd, but for her, it was normal. At least—it was normal now. She couldn't have imagined it being normal six months ago.

The timer on her coffee maker beeped, and Madeleine started fussing half-heartedly.

"Figures," muttered Jenny, getting up. She abandoned the coffee maker and an empty mug and strolled into the nursery, flipping on a light.

Madeleine fidgeted in the crib, screwing up her face and blinking unhappily in the new lights.

She waved her arms. Jenny smiled and waved briefly before she swept her out of the crib, dropping a swift kiss to her head.

"Good morning," she murmured, splaying her fingers out over the back of Madeleine's neck.

"Merry Christmas," she whispered, crinkling her nose.

Madeleine blinked, turning her head. She wriggled, reaching out and grasping Jenny's t-shirt in her small fists. She started to cry half-heartedly, her cheeks flushing. Jenny walked over to the window seat and sat down, yanking up her t-shirt.

The sun was barely starting to show its rays. Jenny tilted her head to look at the view, supporting Madeleine's body in the cradle of her arm while she waited for her to latch on. She closed her eyes, and leaned her head back in relief when she did.

It had taken her a few weeks to get back into the swing of breastfeeding after her mission. She had a lot of things to balance then, and she had almost thrown in the towel on the frustrating thing, judgmental super-moms be damned.

She was glad she hadn't. Breastfeeding was easy. Dealing with formula was decidedly not.

When Madeleine decided she was finished, Jenny held her up to her shoulder and rubbed her back, alternating between gentle circles and soft patting. She grabbed two flexible pillows out of the rocking chair and nudged the unopened box from Jethro over to the wall, sitting down next to it.

She took a minute to burp Madeleine, and then crossed her legs Native-American style, stuffing a pillow between them, and propping one against her stomach. She sat Madeleine up amongst the pillows, splaying her hand over the baby's stomach.

"Daddy sent you a present," Jenny said quietly, digging a nail into the taped-up box. She glanced down at Madeleine and smiled, looking from her to the box. "Da-Da," she said pointedly, tapping the box.

She wasn't sure any of it was getting through, but at least she tried.

Madeleine squirmed, arching her back and looking up at Jenny.

She squealed and smiled, her gums showing.

"You want to see what it is?" Jenny asked, smiling back. "What did Daddy send, honey?" she mused, turning her attention to opening the box. It was a slow process with one hand, so she lent the other, holding Madeleine in her lap.

"Ah!" Madeleine said.

"'Ah' what?" Jenny asked seriously.

Madeleine turned her head, suddenly captivated by Jenny's movements with the box.

"Is it more Troll dolls?" Jenny asked curiously, talking easily to Madeleine. At first, she had felt ridiculous speaking aloud to an infant, but it had become natural lately. Madeleine was an excellent listener.

"Let's see," coaxed Jenny, succeeding in opening Jethro's box. She slowly reached in and moved aside packing peanuts. Madeleine waved her hands at them. "Oh no, no," Jenny murmured. "No peanuts," she said, pushing the dangerous little things away.

She furrowed her brow and plucked out the closest thing. She swept it dramatically into the air. Jenny smirked. She sat back and bent around a little, so she could see Madeleine.

"Look," she said, widening her eyes. "Something you can eat!" She shook the teething ring enticingly in front of the baby. It was rubbery and had a panda on top with wide, smiling, goofy eyes.

Jenny pictured Jethro buying it and snickered.

"Madeleine," she cooed softly. "Look at the panda," Jenny coaxed.

Madeleine followed the toy with her eyes.

"Ah!" she said, thrusting out her arm. She made grasping motions. Jenny handed it to her carefully, tilting her head. Madeleine made noises to herself and dropped the toy, patting it absently.

She put her fingers in her mouth.

"I see you are not impressed," Jenny muttered fondly. She took a moment to look inside the box.

There were two very nice, very soft baby blankets, one purple, and one yellow and pink polka dotted. Jenny ran her palm over them, admiring the feel. He had sent a fluffy stuffed duck that quacked when you squeezed it, as well as a garishly decorated pink pony toy that was about the size of her hand, and a plush, huggable pony with a pacifier attached to its ear.

"Oh, look," Jenny said, showing the pacifier to Madeleine. "These are Mommy's favorite," she said solemnly, picking up the small toy pony. She recognized it as one of the popular _My Little Pony_ toys.

It was amusing to picture Jethro purchasing the ponies, as well.

Madeleine looked up, babbling. She reached for the pony Jenny was holding.

Jenny gasped playfully.

"Do you like the pony?" she asked. She crinkled her nose and poked her tongue out at Madeleine. The baby clapped her hands and giggled. She squeaked insistently, reaching for the toy. "Say, 'thank you, Daddy'," Jenny murmured, handing her the pink toy.

Jenny picked Madeleine up and cuddled her closer, pressing her nose to the baby's cheek. Madeleine just grasped the pony, staring at it curiously. Jenny kissed her cheek, watching her stare at the pony.

"He did good," she said, raising an eyebrow at Madeleine. "Yes?" she nodded her head. "Da-Da did good."

Jenny stood up, picking up the polka-dotted blanket. She tucked it around Madeleine and walked over to the board above the changing table, tapping the picture of Jethro.

"Madeleine," she said. "See? The ponies are from Daddy," she said.

Madeleine was still staring at the pony, oblivious to Jenny's actions.

Jenny gave her a smile, kissed the side of her head, and looked at the picture, blinking slowly.

Her eyes pricked threateningly and she blinked, drawing in a sharp breath. She felt the usual, overwhelming wave of guilt that came with thinking about Jethro or looking at this picture; the one that made her feel inadequate, as if this were all wrong.

"Let's call him, baby," Jenny murmured quietly. She ducked her head to look at in Madeleine's eyes. "Hmmm? Hmmm, blue-eyes? Let's call Daddy," she said.

Madeleine hit her hands and the pony on Jenny's shoulder.

Jenny made a funny face at the baby.

Madeleine dropped the pony, and squealed, touching Jenny's face. Jenny smiled, nodding.

She retrieved her cell phone from her desk and flipped it open, taking Madeleine's hand.

"Press _one_," she said patiently, touching her finger and Madeleine's tiny one on the appropriate speed-dial button. "Can you talk to him when he answers, sweetheart?" Jenny asked.

She began to grin at Madeleine, holding the phone, and then dancing her fingers on the baby's stomach.

"Talk to him, Madeleine," she coaxed in a sing-song voice, tickling her gently.

Madeleine giggled.

"Jen?" she heard Jethro answered faintly.

"AHHH!" Madeleine shrieked.

* * *

><p>Gibbs watched as DiNozzo interrogated their latest winner of a suspect. The kid was coming a long way; he had a strange method of interrogation that was half middle-school-bully and half pompous-Mafia-boss, but it seemed effective.<p>

Whatever method DiNozzo used, it would be more effective than anything Gibbs would put forth today. It was getting late in February. The weather kept getting colder, and the silence in his house seemed to get louder and louder, and the pain of losing Shannon and Kelly was flaring up raw and fresh, the way it always did around this time of year.

He missed them, and the emotions that always accompanied that were never benign; they were violent, searing, and painful. He wouldn't be able to stand five minutes in interrogation with that ungrateful, uncaring, flippant, entitled _punk_ DiNozzo was questioning without losing his cool.

He hadn't been able to talk to Jenny in a few weeks, either. The last time he had heard from her was mid-January; she had warned him that her time might be scarce, and they had simply been missing each other.

He had sent a few more toys to Madeleine, and Jenny had sent some newer pictures. He knew Madeleine was sleeping well, and getting pretty good at sitting up, though according to Jenny she kind of flopped over a lot. She rolled over on her own as well.

Gibbs didn't know much more, though. She had been six months old on the first of February, but Jenny had missed his call—and he had missed hers, due to being out in the field.

The longer he went without hearing from them, the more unbearable he became; he was aware of it.

He just didn't particularly give a damn.

His cell phone rang.

"Gibbs," he grunted.

"Gibbs!" Abby repeated excitedly. "The blood is a match. It's a match! Tony was right!"

"Good work, Abs," he complimented gruffly.

"You flatter me, _el Jefe_," she responded sweetly.

He hung up and tucked his phone away, stepping up to the glass. He rapped on it swiftly with his knuckles, watching DiNozzo stop abruptly in his questioning and turn around. DiNozzo squinted at the glass and started for a minute.

"Stay put, hot shot," he said arrogantly, kicking his chair towards the drug dealer in Interrogation.

Gibbs turned towards the door, waiting for DiNozzo. He swallowed roughly and buried thoughts of Jenny and Madeleine and Shannon and Kelly in the back of his mind.

* * *

><p>He had gotten accustomed to the silence after so many years.<p>

It had been devastating when he first returned to this house—when there were Kelly's toys still strewn all about, and Kelly's bed neatly made, and Shannon's kitchen appliances out, and her make-up in the bathroom—and yet, there had been silence. Back then, at first, ten years ago, it had almost driven him mad.

He had drunk in the silence; he had almost been swallowed by it—by silence, and darkness. And then, he had gotten used to it. He hadn't adjusted to it, and he hadn't accepted it or become 'okay' with it, but it had become a part of the house.

Silence.

Now, it was back to being _maddening_.

He had spent time fixing his house back up; setting things in order. It had given him a way to clear his head when he was coping with the situation he and Jenny were in. His house was different now—it was habitable again, but there was no one to inhabit it.

The silence was frustrating him again because he hated this damned _situation_.

He hated that he _should_ be able to hear Jenny upstairs getting the baby ready for bed, or giving her a bath—and he _should_ be able to just run upstairs and kiss her goodnight before she fell asleep. But all he had was this silence, and the erratic phone calls and envelopes full of pictures.

It wasn't the same.

Gibbs took a drink of his bourbon, glaring at the boat looming in his basement. His hand rested on a hammer; he leaned against his workbench, eyeing his handiwork absently. It was looking like he wouldn't get back to Israel until summer, and the thought made him bitter.

He threw himself into work when he could; but there was a lull in cases. He had nothing to do but prowl around his basement and sulk.

Setting his mason jar down, he turned around slowly and put his fingertips on the picture he had pulled out of one of his dusty old drawers. He frowned, setting his jaw tightly as he looked at the faded image of Kelly. It had been her first day of school.

He gripped the hammer and picked it up, snatching a nail off of one of the shelves. Silently, he nailed the picture of Kelly up next to a recent picture of Madeleine, looking at them next to each other for a moment.

Gibbs thrust the hammer aside with a clatter. He picked up his bourbon, staring at the pictures.

* * *

><p>In a heavily fortified, electronically advanced room in the Mossad Complex, Jenny was analyzing a life-sized, intricate diagram of a desert compound somewhere in the heart of Afghanistan. Intelligence was still coming in about this compound, the crux of which was being gleaned by an NCIS analysis and infiltration team Jenny was directing from her post in Tel-Aviv.<p>

Across the room, Ziva pointed to the screen.

"There must be more to this place, some underground structure," she said firmly, tracing the outside of the building with her fingertips. "It is impossible to run the operations this cell would be running from a camp this small."

"Perhaps it's a decoy," Jenny said negatively. "They want us to pinpoint this compound and send a team into it. It would be like Misrata all over again."

There had been an incident in Libya two months ago in which two British Intelligence agents and three Mossad officers had been killed on catastrophically bad information. They had been publicly murdered on a televised broadcast after the terrorists hacked into air waves throughout the Middle East and made an example of the "decadent west".

Israelis, of course, always constituted a sort of bonus prize when it came to extremist hatred.

"It is possible," Ziva agreed. "But I do not think so. This information has come to us from several different sources—"

"Which is why we should suspect it, yes?" Jenny asked.

Ziva paused.

She eased rapidly into Hebrew.

Jenny followed suit.

"The sources are reliable. You trust your Navy intelligence, I have faith in the unit of Mossad that has heard whispers," Ziva's voice was more aggressive and confident in Hebrew; she knew better what she was trying to say.

"A bad feeling it gives me," Jenny said.

"Your word usage is off," Ziva said. She corrected the sentence. Jenny repeated it, and they moved on. "What feeling do you have? Why is it bad?"

"Multiple sources pinpointing a terrorist cell location is suspect," Jenny explained, putting some confidence into her Hebrew. "It would seem more likely to be ironclad if it were a mere uncertain whisper. You know as well as I that these groups, these extremists, are phenomenally adept at _laying low_."

"What you say is accurate," Ziva said.

They fell into silence, eyeing the plans.

Jenny touched her headset, opening up a line of communication.

"Agent Cade," she said gruffly.

There was a moment of static.

"I read you, Shepard," Cade answered scratchily.

"Analyze all of the chatter and information gleaned from this mission again, send it to our best people in DC if you must," she ordered. "Mossad isn't thoroughly convinced and neither am I. We cannot afford another Misrata."

Another moment of static.

"Ten-four, Shepard," Cade said, signing off.

Ziva had turned away, and was touching her headset delicately. She was speaking rapidly in low Hebrew. Jenny could discern that she was speaking to her brother, but she was not sure why.

"Mum-mum-mum-ma!"

Jenny pulled her headset off of her head and let it rest loosely around her neck, looking down when Madeleine babbled to her.

The baby reached up from the ground, grasping one hand at Jenny and waving her panda bear teething ring in the other. She blinked, smiling happily. She twisted and looked at the screens all around her, eyes wide.

"Mum-mum-mum," she babbled again, replacing her teether in her mouth.

"What are you saying?" Jenny asked, crouching down. She smiled, lifting Madeleine up into her arms. She placed the baby on her hip, marveling again at how much she was growing. She crinkled her nose. "Hmmm? What's got you talkin'?" she coaxed.

"Ba-ba-ba…"

Madeleine's new favorite past time was babbling nonsense monosyllables at Jenny when she wanted attention—hell, even when she already had attention. She came out with a variety of new sounds, clearly surprising herself sometimes, but it had become obvious of late that she settled on the 'mum-mum-mum' mantra for Jenny.

"We will have more files to display once the Cryptology unit deciphers the codes your team recovered," Ziva said, slipping her own headset off.

"That could take weeks," Jenny said, frowning. She looked up from Madeleine.

"Oh, I think not," Ziva said, with a bit of a proud smirk. "The unit is quite good."

Jenny nodded, squinting at the screen again.

"It just…" she trailed off, frowning.

"What is it?" Ziva asked.

"It feels like a distraction," Jenny said slowly. "A trap. We have had an excess of chatter lately," she mused, almost to herself. "It is….abnormal."

"_Ken_," murmured Ziva.

She, too, turned to look at the diagram and picture-filled screens around them.

"Eh!" Madeleine said, thrusting her hand out to Ziva. "Eh! Eh!" she said, holding the panda toy in her outstretched arm.

"Hello," Ziva said awkwardly, waggling her fingers at Madeleine.

Madeleine stared at the fingers with wide eyes. She smiled, dropped the panda toy, and mimicked the movement. Jenny grinned.

"Eh!" Madeleine protested again.

"I do not understand," Ziva said seriously. "What does she want?"

Jenny shrugged lightly. She didn't think Madeleine wanted Ziva to hold her—Ziva had never held Madeleine. She refused; Ziva was a very far cry from Tali when it came to the baby. Jenny tilted her head, raising her eyebrows.

"Are you teasing Ziva?" she asked solemnly.

Madeleine looked at Jenny. She put her fingers in her mouth. She looked down at the floor, started at the panda briefly, and twisted her face up, beginning to cry.

"Oh, none of that," Jenny admonished gently, taking Madeleine's fingers from her mouth. She frowned. "You threw it down there," she reminded her daughter.

"She was very well-behaved while we worked," Ziva remarked. "Perhaps she is making up for it?"

Jenny gave Ziva a look. Ziva smiled a little.

"Shall I pick up her toy?" Ziva offered, crouching down.

"She should stop throwing it," Jenny muttered.

Ziva came up with the panda, holding it delicately between two fingers. She danced it a little in front of Madeleine.

"Here you are, Madeleine," she said calmly.

The baby stared at Ziva. She laid her head on Jenny's shoulder, putting her fingers in her mouth again. Jenny rested her hand on Madeleine's back and smiled. She made a motion for Ziva to hand her the toy, and Ziva did, shrugging.

"Ari needs the room," Ziva announced, slipping back into business. "He says it is imperative, as soon as we are finished using it as a play pen."

Jenny grit her teeth and rolled her eyes.

She crouched and picked up Madeleine's blanket, her stuffed pony, the stuffed duck, and her car seat, looping it all on one arm.

"I will not be sad to see Haswari go when his overseas work begins."

* * *

><p>Jenny was struggling with Madeleine, attempting to keep the baby from squirming away while she pinned a diaper on. Her daughter's constant desire to wriggle out of reach when Mom was trying to put a diaper on was getting old fast.<p>

"Be still," Jenny murmured. She pursed her lips, raising her eyebrows at Madeleine. "You don't want me to stick you," she said, tapping the edge of her safety pin gingerly. Madeleine smiled, reaching out her arms to Jenny. She kicked. "Or do you?" Jenny grumbled, grabbing Madeleine's ankles and holding them firmly.

Madeleine didn't like that. She yelled in frustration, trying to scoot away.

"This is like," Jenny muttered, searching for a comparison as she slipped the safety pin into Madeleine's cloth diaper. "Hmm, this is like dressing a wound on Jethro," she decided, lifting Madeleine up as she adequately secured the diaper. "You know that? You're as bad as your father."

Jenny wrinkled her nose, holding Madeleine up on her tip-toes. She grinned, watching the baby stand on wobbly legs, swaying, ready to fall if Jenny wasn't there holding her up protectively. Jenny laughed, sweeping her off the changing table and pressing a kiss to her chubby cheek.

"You take your time standing up, baby," she said earnestly.

She stroked her hand through Madeleine's silky, fine hair and walked around the room with her, sighing softly. Madeleine was growing up annoyingly fast, and it was difficult for different reasons. She was so alert and aware of things, and Jenny was starting to feel like she couldn't give her enough attention, or didn't play with her enough. She felt like she wasn't appreciating every little step in Madeleine's development, and she felt like it was happening too fast—she had just gotten used to the idea of having an infant, and suddenly Madeleine was closer to a year old than she was to infancy.

And on top of that, Jethro had only _really_ seen her twice—in her entire life, her father had only seen her _twice_.

Jenny sat down on the window seat and settled Madeleine in front of her, picking up the pony toys she favored and placing them near her. She chose the fluffy one to amuse herself with, and Jenny leaned back, watching quietly, enjoying the dusk that was settling over Israel.

"Eee-ma-ma-ma-eee," Madeleine cooed, holding out a medium-sized My Little Pony to Jenny.

Jenny smiled; amused by the mixture Madeleine always came out with of the Hebrew and English words for 'Mother'.

"Thank you," Jenny said, taking the pony. Madeleine grinned. She grasped her hand, as if asking for it back. Jenny laughed fondly. "Oh, you change your mind?" she allowed her daughter to have the pony back.

Madeleine, of course, placed it in her mouth.

Jenny raised her eyebrows.

Her cell phone rang shrilly from the changing table.

"Don't move," she said seriously, getting up swiftly and retrieving it as quickly as possible. She opened it and answered the call as she walked back to Madeleine.

"Mossad," she answered bluntly. If this were work related, she would be asked for an authentication code. If not—

"Jenny," Jethro answered her.

She gripped the phone tightly, her eyes widening in surprise.

"Jethro!" she answered, her voice rising a bit in excitement. She had not spoken to him since Easter, quite a few weeks now. He had sent Madeleine a stuffed bunny for the holiday.

"Is it a good time?" he asked gruffly.

"Yes," she answered confidently. "I've been given a break for the next few days," she answered.

"Rare," he commented suspiciously.

"It's _Shavuot_," she explained. "A Jewish holiday. People around here are surprisingly orthodox."

"You're not celebrating?" he asked wryly.

"I'm taking the break, aren't I?" she countered. She took his silence as agreement. She usually opted to work through holidays if it meant she could get things done.

"You need it?" he asked.

"God," she sighed, leaning back against the wall. Madeleine removed her pony from her mouth and started gumming the tail of the plush one. Jenny stared at her, making a face. She was going to get fuzzies all in her mouth. "I hope that was a rhetorical question."

He snickered.

"Stressed?" he asked.

"She _moves_, Jethro," Jenny said. "I set her down to play while I work, and the next thing I know she's crawled half across the room. It's maddening. I have to keep her in the pen."

"She crawls? When did she start that?" Jethro asked tensely.

Jenny frowned, lifting her eyes as she thought.

"I wrote it down," she murmured, half to herself. "Oh, a week or so after Easter. I think it was an accident, really. She pulls herself up, and she would push herself on her hands and knees, and she would sort of…scoot forward. Then she figured out it could get her places," Jenny explained.

Jethro grunted. He sounded a little put off.

"She awake?" Jethro asked.

"Yes."

"What's she doing?"

"She's right here," Jenny answered. "She's trying to eat that pony you sent. The big one."

Jethro snorted; Jenny could practically hear him lifting his eyebrows.

"I take it she's still teething?"

"Yes," Jenny sighed. "It doesn't make her so feverish anymore, and she's getting quite a bit of use out of the panda teething ring," Jenny frowned, reaching out to brush baby curls off Madeleine's forehead. "I feel so bad for her. Poor thing, I know she's sore."

The phone conversation fell to silence for a moment, and she heard Jethro shifting around.

"Jen," he ventured cautiously.

"Hmm?" she murmured in response, tickling Madeleine's toe. Madeleine curled her feet in and giggled, her mouth opening wide.

"Happy Mother's Day."

Jenny straightened up, blinking. She tilted her head, holding the phone delicately, caught off guard for a moment.

"What?" she asked blankly.

"Mother's Day," he repeated. "You celebrate it now."

"I do?" she asked dumbly.

"Jenny," he patronized. "You did notice you had a baby, didn't you?" he asked sarcastically.

"Yes, of course," she answered distractedly. "I just—" she paused, looking at Madeleine intently. "I guess I didn't think about it."

She tugged on Madeleine's toes gently, playing with her. Considering what Jethro had said. It hadn't really occurred to her that it was May, and May was when Mother's Day was generally celebrated. She hadn't even celebrated since—oh, since her own mother had left, and that had been…more than fifteen years ago.

Jenny cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder and reached out, pulling Madeleine into her lap. She hugged the baby, placing a kiss to the crown of her head. Madeleine squirmed and reached with pincer-like hands for the pony toys.

Jenny handed her one to mouth on.

"Well, thank you, Jethro," she said softly, stroking Madeleine's arm. She smiled to herself. "Convenient I got a break today, huh?" she asked.

He laughed.

"Coincidence," he answered.

"You don't believe in 'em," she countered. "You didn't call Mossad, did you?" she asked mockingly. He grunted in the negative, sounding skeptical. She smiled, looking down at Madeleine.

"Madeleine," she drawled sweetly, attracting the baby's attention. "Do you want to talk to Daddy?" she asked, pressing the speaker button without warning. She reached down with both hands to tickle Madeleine's feet and stomach, hoping to make her laugh for Jethro.

"Jethro, say something to her," Jenny said, sticking her tongue between her teeth and making faces at the baby.

"Madeleine," Jethro complied mildly, his voice deep. He spoke loudly, to be heard through the speaker phone and over thousands and thousands of miles. "How are those teeth?"

Madeleine hung over Jenny's arm, looking at the direction of the new sound with wide, curious eyes. She held her mouth open, holding her pony limply as she stared.

"She's listening," Jenny said encouragingly.

"She can hear me?" Jethro asked gruffly; self-conscious.

"Mmm-hmm," Jenny answered, watching Madeleine with a smile on her face. She looked back at the phone.

Madeleine babbled a string of quiet syllables, flopping back against Jenny's stomach heavily. She slumped down, squirming around.

"AH!" she shrieked, looking up at Jenny from her back. "Ma-ma-ma-meh," she whined, reaching up and grasping methodically. "MA!" she squealed insistently.

"What, silly, I'm right here," Jenny answered. She picked up the phone and laced her fingers around Madeleine's tiny ones, letting the baby pull on her hand and yank her arm around in amusement.

"Jethro?"

"I'm here," he answered neutrally.

"She's smiling," Jenny informed him. "She's grown _so_ much," Jenny told him hesitantly. She didn't want to make him feel like he was missing too much; Jethro tended to feel guilty, and she knew it made him angry and that it upset him that he was missing _so_ much.

"Yeah," he said, interested.

"Ah," Jenny said suddenly, as she looked into her daughter's content, amused eyes. "Another thing—she's not blue-eyed anymore," Jenny announced smugly.

"What?" asked Jethro, offended.

"No blue," Jenny reiterated. "Green; and they're beautiful. The _most_ beautiful. Ever."

"You sure about that, Jen?" Jethro asked archly.

"Yes," she answered seriously. "You should see them, Jethro."

"Hmpf," he grumbled.

She really did think Madeleine's eyes were gorgeous, but Tali seemed to think Jenny was incredibly biased. Tali liked to remind the redhead that they "just looked like everyone else's green eyes".

Jenny refused to hear it. Her baby _obviously_ had the prettiest green eyes.

"I know," he said slowly.

"Speaking of that," Jenny ventured. "What do the next few months look like?"

"I'll be there on her first birthday," he answered automatically. "I put in ten days, might get a few more."

"That's the soonest?" Jenny asked, a little disappointed.

"I almost got there for Easter, Jen," he said gruffly. "But DiNozzo got his dumb ass suspended…" Jethro began to mumble incoherently.

"Jethro," she interrupted with a laugh. She waited until he ceased. "It's alright."

"No it isn't, Jen. I want to see her."

Jenny fell silent. He sounded so accusatory.

"I'm not keeping her from you," she said defensively, her good mood evaporating slowly. "This isn't easy for me, either."

He stayed quiet a minute.

"I know," he said finally, his tone dull.

Jenny bit her lip shakily, looking down at Madeleine again. The baby stared up at her lazily, her eyelids droopy. Jenny reached up and stroked Madeleine's hair soothingly, her eyes on her daughter as the baby started to fall asleep.

"She's sleepy," she said into the phone, hoping her words sounded steady. "Madeleine," she whispered softly. "Daddy says night-night," she said.

"Jen," he said, resigned. "Don't cry," he said gruffly. "I didn't mean to make you—ah," he swore, muffled, on the other end of the line.

"I'm not crying."

"You're lying," he pointed out bluntly. "You're supposed to have a _good_ day," he pointed out.

"Jethro," she sighed, shaking her head. She tilted her head back, chewing the inside of her cheek stoically. She took a breath as if to say something else, but she didn't want to open up to him. She just didn't have the energy. "I'm fine," she said guardedly. "Thank you," she added appreciatively.

"She's asleep?"

"Just about."

Jethro said something under his breath. She heard him moving around again. She heard something _ping_, as if off a computer—and deduced he was at work.

"_Gibbs-Gibbs-Gibbs_—" she heard a woman demanding his attention in the background and furrowed her brow in amusement at the childish sound.

"I miss 'er, Jen," he said in a very low voice. "Tell her."

She nodded.

"Bye, Jethro," she said, but she wasn't sure he heard her. He abruptly had to go, as he often did—or she often did—when work interfered. Jenny lay her phone down on the window seat and gently lifted Madeleine up. Groggily, Madeleine whimpered and made a face, annoyed at having been disturbed.

She snuggled up to Jenny's chest and smacked her lips sleepily, her hand resting comfortably against Jenny's breast. Jenny carried her over to the rocking chair and sat down, not quite ready to lay her to sleep in the crib yet.

* * *

><p>She patted Madeleine's back rhythmically and watched her falling asleep, still enjoying the setting sun in Israel. So, it was Mother's Day—she didn't care. She never felt like she was a particularly good mother.<p>

For a very tense, quiet moment, Jenny did not know whether Madeleine was going to giggle or start screaming in dismay when her bare feet dipped into the cold, slimy washable paint Jenny had puddled in some plastic trays.

Madeleine looked stunned at the sensation, and she wriggled in Jenny's grip, her feet slipping around. She didn't cry, though, and Jenny smiled, raising her eyebrows dramatically and crinkling her nose comfortingly.

Madeleine gripped Jenny's fingers tightly, whining uncertainly as if she would fall in the slippery substance, but Jenny would never allow that to occur. She held her up firmly, the way she often did now when she was assisting Madeleine in learning to walk.

"Oh my," Jenny sighed in a quiet voice. "You don't know what to think, do you?" she asked, tilting her head. She deftly slid her hands down to Madeleine's waist and lifted her, kneeling up and lowering the baby onto a blank sheet of paper. Jenny grinned, resting her chin lightly on Madeleine's shoulder.

"Look!" she exclaimed, pointing ostentatiously. She pulled Madeleine into her lap, careful to let her feet smear clean a little on the newspapers she'd laid out, and she made a show of looking happily at the now printed paper. "It's your little footprints, Madeleine!" Jenny said, nodding her head.

Madeleine put her thumb in her mouth and leaned forward, gesturing at the pictures. She scooted forward on Jenny's lap, amazed by her surroundings. Jenny smiled, eyeing the footprints critically.

She and Madeleine were making Jethro cards for Father's Day. Madeleine didn't understand any of that, but Jenny was having fun playing with her.

Madeleine popped her thumb out of her mouth, squealed, and kicked her feet rapidly, crinkling up paper. Jenny squinted as a few drops of paint splattered her face.

"Is this your way of conveying approval?" Jenny murmured, looking down at her daughter. Madeleine looked up at her. She babbled at Jenny, smiling at the smile on her mother's face. Jenny scrunched up her lips and kissed Madeleine's forehead, leaning forward and reaching for some more white paper.

"Let's make a hand print for Daddy," she murmured, tugging a tray of purple paint closer. She took Madeleine's hand gingerly and placed it in the cool colour. Madeleine squealed, flopping back into Jenny happily.

"Ehma!" she announced. "Ehma!"

It was her 'word' for Jenny. Technically, Madeleine didn't have anything even resembling a vocabulary, but she made phonetic sounds that Jenny liked to pretend were actual words. It seemed like an early sort of bilingual confusion, though—she heard so much Hebrew when Jenny was with Tali and Ziva, or other Mossad operatives, and often heard the David sisters refer to Jenny as _Ima_, and yet she heard Jenny refer to herself as "Mama"—and in the end, Jenny had noticed, it was coming out as "Ehma."

"I know it's fun," Jenny agreed, guessing at Madeleine's emotions. "Let's finger paint, _ahuva_," she coaxed softly. She placed Madeleine's tiny hand on the paper above her green footprints, holding it there gently while the shape of her hand took form.

Madeleine squirmed, trying to yank her hand away. She said something in her indecipherable, babbling infant language and cooed to herself, kicking her feet. Jenny laughed, watching her amuse herself.

She hugged Madeleine around the middle, holding her hand firmly so she wouldn't touch her face with it.

"We can draw, too," Jenny said, showing Madeleine to extend her finger. The baby was compliant in Jenny's hands, trusting, and allowing herself to be maneuvered. Jenny drew circles and made polka dots. "What do you think?"

Madeleine stared at the pictures, staring at her hand and Jenny's. She thrust her arm up, shouting with glee. Jenny snickered. Madeleine scooted forward and lunged onto her hands and knees, crinkling paper and almost upsetting the paint tins.

Jenny gasped apprehensively, her muscles tensing.

"Careful, sweetie," she hissed, though Madeleine wouldn't understand the meaning. The paint smeared, disturbed by its creators' movements. Jenny frowned, noticing the streaks that now spotted Madeleine's knees and some of her onesie.

She reached forward, curling her arm around Madeleine's waist as the little girl wobbled unsteadily on her hands and knees. Jenny leaned back, dragging the baby with her—the door opened.

"Tali—" Jenny began casually, expecting the youngest David to be walking through the door. It was, after all, Tali's room that was being used as the artistic haven, and Tali had been eager to help control Madeleine while they made pictures.

It was not, however, Tali returning from her academic meeting.

Jenny straightened up somewhat stiffly, her guard going up.

"Haswari," she greeted.

"Shepard," he answered unthreateningly. "I expected to find my sister," he said, directly to the point. "Where is she?"

"Her tutors are evaluating her," Jenny answered, looking down with a scowl as she tried to prevent Madeleine from escaping her lap. "She should be back shortly."

Haswari looked around, his eyebrows going up silently. He took in the scene, the pictures, the paint, and his eyes came to rest on Madeleine.

"It appears my sister is missing the fun," he remarked casually.

"This _was_ her idea," Jenny said neutrally. She wasn't used to speaking with Haswari in such a civil manner—and she was not at all use to his being in such a civil mood. His transfer to the South American/United States Mossad operation base was approaching, and Jenny had to admit—he had tamed quite a bit since then.

"How very like her," said Haswari fondly.

An alarm sounded in the other room and Jenny looked over sharply, frowning. It was a notice on Ziva's computer, one that was informing her she needed to answer a Mossad direct line immediately. Ziva was supposed to be contacting her regarding a surveillance operation.

Jenny looked hesitantly at Madeleine, starting to stand up. She frowned.

"I will supervise her," Haswari volunteered mildly, sensing Jenny's dilemma. If the video conference by any chance involved a person in addition to Ziva, it would be bad for Madeleine to be seen.

Jenny's movements became more tense and hesitant as the alarm beeped more insistently. She bit her lip, holding Madeleine protectively. Haswari knelt down, tilting his head very calmly at the baby.

"Do not worry, Shepard," he said neutrally. "I often played with both Tali and Ziva, when they were this small."

Unable to put off a decision, Jenny handed Madeleine to Haswari, caught momentarily off guard by the thought of _Ziva_ as baby.

"Don't let her put her hand near her mouth," she warned, pointing at the purple-paint covered appendage. She left the room, glancing back swiftly.

She heard Haswari speaking amiably in Hebrew as she scrambled into the desk chair before Ziva's work station, fumbling for the buttons. She flicked on the screen, answering the call.

"It is about time," Ziva said bluntly.

"Are you alone?" Jenny asked.

"Yes. I was unable to achieve a meet with our contact; it will have to wait."

"Brief me, Ziva," Jenny said anxiously. "You've got five minutes; I left my baby with your _brother_."

Ziva raised her eyebrows high—and she gave a very amused, very rare smirk.

* * *

><p>There was some sort of celebration taking place in Abby's lab. He was not quite sure what the occasion was—it was an agent's birthday, or someone was engaged, something like that. Most of NCIS' employees has called it quits for the night and were down enjoying Abby's festivities.<p>

Gibbs worked diligently through the paperwork of his and DiNozzo's most recent case, a grueling, mind-numbingly boring issue of embezzlement. Gibbs had said he was going home, but when everyone left him alone (finally) and disappeared with Abby, he hadn't been able to bring himself to do it.

He frowned and leaned back, rubbing his forehead. Gibbs glanced around half-heartedly before he reached over and took an opened envelope out of his drawer, tipping it up to release the contents. He sat forward and spread the two sheets of messily finger painted paper out in front of him, his eyes roaming over the handprints and footprints admiringly.

The handmade drawings were a welcome change to the pictures he usually received. It felt cold and impersonal sometimes to just open Jenny's envelopes and find various pictures of Madeleine sleeping or sitting with her ponies. It was as if Jenny wasn't sure what he wanted to see—and then, that wasn't her fault. Many of the things he wanted to see could not be captured on photograph.

Gibbs held up one of the photos in front of his face, leaning forward. It was a rare one that had Jenny in it as well as Madeleine; Madeleine was struggling to get away from Jenny and had shoved her paint-covered, tiny hand against Jenny's cheek. Jenny seemed to be laughing, her eyes closed, and her mouth open.

He ran his thumb over the picture, almost able to summon a memory of how her hair felt when he touched it. It was worse than he could have imagined, knowing they were alive and well and yet being unable to touch them or hear them.

He pushed his chair back and pinned one of Madeleine's footprints up behind him. No one would dare inquire about it, and he liked having it there—it was comforting; as comforting as the flask from Shannon and Kelly that he kept in the drawer, or the old school picture of Kelly he tucked in his wallet.

He slipped the other drawings back into the envelope; a few to stick up in his basement, and one for Noemi, when he saw her next. The picture of Jenny and the baby lay on his keyboard, forgotten for a moment. He considered giving Jenny a call, but it would be the crack of dawn in Israel, and in many cases, it was best to let her call him.

He rested his palm over the picture and glanced at his calendar.

There were far too many days left until August.

* * *

><p>"Madeleine," Jenny hissed under her breath, reaching up for what had to be the thousandth time to take the baby's hand away from her ear. She held Madeleine's fingers and looked at her solemnly. "Don't pull on those, Madeleine," she admonished. "You're hurting Mommy."<p>

Madeleine stared at her, wriggling her fingers and slipping them away from Jenny. She grinned and started to reach for Jenny's small hoop earrings again.

"For the love of God," Jenny swore to herself, wincing away from Madeleine's insistent, curious grasp. She adjusted Madeleine on her hip and grasped the stroller with one hand, pushing it a little farther out of the way while she examined the shelf of baby clothes she was looking at.

"Ouch," she muttered to herself, subconsciously reaching up to pull Madeleine's hand away.

This time, Madeleine shrieked in protest and yanked her hand back, squirming. She balled her hand into a fist and started rubbing her eye clumsily, her face crumpling a little. Jenny looked at her for a minute and rolled her eyes, reaching up to rub her back.

"It's just a little shopping," she informed the baby. Madeleine whined pitifully and slumped against Jenny's shoulder. Jenny could feel her rubbing her eye. She shifted the baby again, tilting her head.

"Hey," she said gently, taking Madeleine's hand _again_. "What's wrong with your eye?" Madeleine had been rubbing that eye on and off all day. At first, Jenny thought it might just be the dry desert heat; the little girl wasn't used to being outside for extended periods.

But they had been in the mall for quite a while now, and she continued to rub.

Jenny reached up and gently opened Madeleine's eye wide, narrowing her own to study it. She pressed her hand against Madeleine's forehead suspiciously. Nothing.

"Hmmm," Jenny murmured, turning back to clothing shopping. She tilted her head, pulling a few options towards her. She was trying to find a birthday outfit for Madeleine that not only suited her own tastes, but also wasn't torturous for the baby to wear _and_ didn't make Jethro cringe.

Everything for baby girls seemed to have frills and bows and ruffles and _pink_.

Madeleine whined a bit louder, and pulled on Jenny's earring again, very nearly yanking it out.

"Do you _want_ to go back in the stroller?" Jenny threatened. Her words fell on deaf ears, naturally, because Madeleine didn't quite understand the concept of being punished. She just started struggling as if she wanted to get away.

It evidently had been a bad day to go shopping. Madeleine was in an unhappy mood; she was probably tired, it was hot outside. But the Mossad Complex had been so tense the past few days that Jenny had thought that was even affecting the baby.

The redhead sighed tiredly, shaking her head. She crouched and reached into Madeleine's bag, taking out one of her bottles.

"Here, honey," she murmured, coaxing her to take it. She held it for a few minutes until Madeleine took over. She settled down, snuggled against Jenny's hip contentedly, looking around while she calmly drank down her snack.

The lapse in Madeleine's fidgeting gave Jenny time to actually peruse the clothing choices. She dressed Madeleine in a lot of green, but she was angling for something different for her birthday.

The baby was going to turn a year old in two and a half weeks, and somewhere in the back of her mind, the thought was freaking Jenny out. She was looking forward to Jethro seeing Madeleine again; she couldn't shake an anxious feeling, though.

It was irrational, but the fact that Jethro had a daughter already was bothering her—she kept asking herself what he was going to think of the job she was doing, if he'd compare Madeleine to Kelly, if he'd be able to cope, et cetera.

She had spoken to Ducky occasionally in the past few months; Noemi as well. She received two different opinions on Jethro's behavior. Noemi said he was gentlemanly and quiet, and very kind to her; Ducky said he was storming around NCIS with the temperament of a bear that had been prodded too many times with a sharp stick.

The two different accounts were actually rather similar to what Madeleine's personality was turning out to be.

Jenny turned around, walking slowly through the clothing choices. Madeleine dropped her bottle, bored, and laid her head against her mother's shoulder, curling her hands up under her. She rubbed her eye again.

Jenny sighed quietly and picked up the bottle, her hand automatically going to Madeleine's head to stroke her soft hair.

"I hope you're in a better mood when your father comes to see you," she murmured wistfully, glancing down at Madeleine. "Has that sunk in yet?" she asked. She pressed her lips to Madeleine's ear. "Daddy's coming to see you," Jenny whispered.

She had been trying to acquaint Madeleine with the concept of a father, but she wasn't sure she was getting through. She let Madeleine hold the picture of Jethro, and she repeated different words for 'father'.

She handed Madeleine the things Jethro had sent and tried to convey that they had been a gift from _Da-Da_. Most of the time, Madeleine just smiled at Jenny, or squealed, or stared at her as if she were insane. It was disheartening. Jenny knew it was a stretch to expect Madeleine to recognize Jethro, but she at least wanted her to let him hold her and play with her.

Madeleine had a sense of stranger shyness that was partly typical of her age and partly instilled by Jenny; she knew the sign and the word for a 'safe person', something Jenny had been teaching her diligently.

Madeleine rubbed her eye furiously.

Jenny clicked her tongue, taking her hand absently while she searched through clothes. Madeleine whimpered, the catches in her breath warning Jenny that she was about to start fussing, if not outright crying.

"Oh," muttered Jenny, rocking her a little. She spread her palm over Madeleine's hand and held it against her chest.

"Ma'am, may I help you with anything?"

One of the store's employees, neatly groomed and speaking perfect, professional Hebrew, looked up from the display case, smiling at Jenny. Jenny was momentarily caught off guard when she was spoken to in Hebrew, and blinked, taking a moment to find her vocabulary.

"I am all right," Jenny answered in the Israeli tongue. "I am simply waiting for something that catches my eye."

"How old is your daughter?" the girl asked, hopping down from the display and pointing at Madeleine's back.

"Eleven months," Jenny answered, almost surreally.

The girl nodded and beckoned with her hand.

"We have some newer things for that age group over here—more summery, if you will; just follow me."

Jenny did so, pushing the stroller deftly with one hand.

She was glad for the helpful interference for once. She was eager to buy some new clothes for Madeleine, yet the constant eye-rubbing was making her anxious to get Madeleine to the pediatrician as well.

* * *

><p>"Do you have anything now?"<p>

"Tony! You're pressuring Major Mass Spec too much, he's not that easy!"

Tony DiNozzo frowned and leaned back, a pout stuck firmly on his face. Smiling as always, Abby Sciuto whirled around, sipping her customary _Caf-pow_! with gusto. She raised her eyebrows, tilting her head.

"Why are you harassing me?" she asked knowingly.

"Gibbs is assessing a threat in MTAC," Tony whined.

"So, technically, I am babysitting," Abby responded.

"Um. No."

"I think so," Abby said, nodding emphatically. "No one leaves you alone anymore." She smirked at Tony, and he frowned, looking put off. He folded his hands behind him and leaned back, eyeing Abby in silence.

He slowly leaned forward, a grin spreading over his lips lazily.

"You know Gibbs is leaving again," he said, dangling the bait.

Abby gasped. Her face fell.

"What? _El Jefe_, leaving us once more?" she cried, bouncing unhappily. Technically, Gibbs hadn't mysteriously vanished in a year, but—

"For someone who's supposed to be a hard-ass workaholic, he goes on vacation a lot," Tony said obnoxiously, musing out loud.

Abby nodded, chewing on her straw. She thought it was all very intriguing—or, if not intriguing, then suspicious. She was voraciously curious to figure out what he could be doing, but she respected Gibbs' private nature too much to poke and prod. Occasionally, she might drop hints, or try to fool him into correcting her, but he never fell for it.

Bossman was just too _good_.

"You know what that means," DiNozzo continued pointedly.

"Work will be miserable," Abby supplied promptly, a puppy-dog look in her green eyes.

Tony shook his head.

"I'm in charge," he said smugly.

"Are not," Abby fired back automatically.

"Are too!" Tony retorted. "I'm his partner, I take over! You have to listen to _me_."

"You're his probie," Abby corrected primly. "There is _so_ a difference. Also, no one is going to let you be in charge after that stunt that got you suspended."

"It wasn't a _stunt_!" DiNozzo nearly shrieked, defensive and annoyed. "Gibbs _told_ me I could tase the reporter guy. I didn't _know_ he was kidding. Gibbs doesn't kid—can YOU tell when he's joking?"

Abby covered her mouth, giggling at Tony's flustered outrage.

"I understand Gibbs, Tony," Abby informed him. "Unlike you."

The Italian-American grumbled under his breath, glaring at her.

"Do you know where Gibbs is going? Tahiti? The Bahamas? Colorado?" Abby asked.

Tony shrugged.

"I just know I'm in charge."

"HA. Fat chance," Abby scoffed again, taking a sip of her energy drink. "I bet I'm in charge. I'm Gibbs' favorite. You can't be in charge until you're such a good investigator that you find out where Gibbs is going."

"Why don't you be a good scientist and figure that out, and then _I'll_ let _you_ be in charge?" Tony fired back.

Abby opened her mouth to respond, but Major Mass Spec _pinged_ and took her attention. At almost the exact same moment, Gibbs barged in, looking as formidable and moody as ever.

"Gibbs!" Abby greeted enthusiastically, beaming at him.

"Boss," Tony said right after. They both inched towards him expectantly. "Who's in charge when you leave, Abby or me?" he asked smugly, giving Abby a high-and-mighty look.

Gibbs glared at him, looking at them as if they had both lost their minds.

"_I_ am," he growled. He pointed to the machine seriously. "What've you got?"

* * *

><p>Jenny leaned back against the worn padding in her desk chair, yawning slightly, her eyes fixed on the surveillance screen in front of her. She had been at this for two hours, and a wonderful, oh-so-exciting four hours of it was left to come.<p>

She had her eye on a bugged Mosque in Haifa that was purported to be used by terrorists. It was probably another false lead, but it was something.

She shifted very slightly, careful not to disturb Madeleine. The baby was lazily drinking her nightly bottle in Jenny's lap, half-way between asleep and awake, her eyes drooping. The wide, curious green orbs were fixed on Jenny contently, and every once in a while, Jenny would glance down and smile, or crinkle her nose reassuringly. With one hand, she kept up a repetitive, soothing pat against Madeleine's back as she held her, rocking her gently.

Jenny blew air out of her mouth, chasing hairs off of her forehead and out of her eyes. Through the headset she wore for communication, she could hear the soft murmur of one of her NCIS contacts in Damascus, and the crunch of Ziva eating somewhere in the Mossad building. They all had their eyes on something; all checking in with each other.

It was peaceful, but tedious.

A half-empty mug of coffee sat, cooling and abandoned, next to Jenny's lap top—and next to that, placed close to the edge of the desk and therefore near Madeleine's head, was a tape player.

It contained a tape of Jethro reading some story to Madeleine—Jenny could not remember which one she had put in, and she was not paying attention at the moment. His voice was calm, gruff, and surreal to her, and she had been playing these tapes he sent more and more as his visit approached.

The stories put Madeleine to sleep; Jenny could only hope she would subconsciously remember the voice that soothed her.

In all honesty, listening to the tapes often put Jenny to sleep as well. She blocked Jethro's voice out now due to her surveillance of the scene on her screen; she couldn't afford to fall asleep, and lately she had discovered that falling asleep to Jethro's voice resulted in dreams that left her with nothing but an empty feeling and a desperate need for a freezing shower.

She glanced down at Madeleine again and, this time, gently pried the bottle away, noticing the baby was nearly asleep anyway. She placed it next to the coffee cup and cuddled her closer to her, continuing to pat her back.

Madeleine curled her fist and covered her face with one hand, smacking her lips together. She coughed a little, and then made soft, kittenish noises, snuggling up to Jenny.

Jenny laughed, biting her cheek quickly to quiet it.

"Have you seen something, Shepard?" Ziva asked briskly, breaking a silence that had lasted an hour.

"Ah, no," Jenny answered, a little embarrassed. She clicked onto Ziva's channel alone, cutting the NCIS operative out of the conversation. "I was laughing at Madeleine."

"I see," Ziva answered, falling silent. After a few moments, and another crunch, Ziva ventured: "Did she do something amusing?"

Jenny raised her eyebrows. Ziva must be mind-numbingly bored if she was inquiring about Madeleine. To the Mossad Agent, Madeleine was just a belonging of Jenny's that Ziva worked around. She rarely talked about her or asked after her—and she had but once or twice interacted with her.

"She," began Jenny, but she stopped. She realized the cute little noises Madeleine made were only adorable or funny to her; Ziva would probably be confused as to why Jenny was entertained. "She has an amusing expression on her face," Jenny decided on vaguely.

"I see," Ziva said again. Another crunch.

"_What_ are you eating?" Jenny asked, exasperated. Ziva had been crunching for the past half an hour.

"I am eating nothing," Ziva answered cryptically. She stayed quiet for another moment. "Tali is throwing balls of aluminum foil at me."

Jenny made a face of disbelief at Madeleine. Ziva said nothing else, apparently thinking such a statement was perfectly normal.

"Well, if you would stop dodging and let me hit you, I would stop." Jenny heard Tali's voice in the background, muffled, and almost too quiet for recognition.

"Never," Ziva answered.

Jenny smirked. She shook her head, and then adjusted her headset so the NCIS operative was back online with everyone.

"Donavan," she asked, "Have you got anything?"

"Not a damn thing, Shepard," he answered, sounding tired and frustrated. "Two women have passed through this restaurant, that's about it."

"They're probably the terrorists," Jenny murmured dully.

Donavan snorted.

"Mossad sure this is all connected, Jenny?" Donavan asked skeptically.

Jenny shrugged, and then remembered she had to speak.

"Mossad can hear you," she reminded him. "It could be. They know their extremists; they can see angles we can't. Regardless, we'll bust whoever's been thieving off ships," Jenny said quietly. "We've got to find something."

"It has been much too quiet lately," Ziva murmured darkly.

"That it has," Donavan piped up warily. He cleared his throat. "What cup of coffee are you two on?"

"I do not drink coffee," Ziva answered bluntly.

"Fourth," Jenny answered, looking down at Madeleine again. She used to be able to survive surveillance ops and stakeouts on a mere cup of espresso, but now sleep was so rare she was almost akin to Jethro in the way she mainlined it.

"Hmm," grunted Donavan. "I'm putting my equipment on record a minute, gotta get a re-fill," he said.

Jenny laughed.

"Sure, Simon," she agreed, turning the volume on her headset down slightly.

She leaned back again, shifting uncomfortably. Her thighs were falling asleep, and it was mostly due to Madeleine's falling asleep on top of them. Jenny arched her back, stretching a little. She got up very carefully and bent over the playpen, laying Madeleine to sleep in it. She was too big for the cradle now, but Jenny wanted her close by in case she woke up. Jenny kissed her palm and pressed it to Madeleine's forehead.

She sat back down, propping her legs up on the desk this time. She reached simultaneously for her cold coffee and the tape player. She took a sip, made a face, and set her mug back down, focusing in the tape player.

Jethro's voice was still coming through it, surprisingly adept at story-telling. She brought it close to her ear, listening to the story. It was _The Velveteen Rabbit_ he was reading her. She wondered if he had read it to Kelly, too.

Jenny took a deep breath, her finger lingering over the button that would turn off the tape recorder. She hesitated. His voice was a soothing background noise, but she couldn't help wondering if it were somehow creepy that she was sitting around hanging on to an ex-lover's distant voice.

She frowned, and then got up again, placing the tape player in the pen with Madeleine. The baby slept quietly, and Jenny turned the volume down a little, deciding to leave it on, at least until Jethro finished his story.

She had to block it out, though. She focused on the surveillance, and the sounds coming through her headset. She couldn't listen to it for too long. Madeleine might not know Jethro's voice, but Jenny did—she knew it in every part of her, and hearing it was starting to hurt.

* * *

><p>He knew it would be Tali David who waited for him at the airport, but he did not expect her to appear to suddenly in front of him the way she did. His surprise was entirely due to the fact that he had not recognized her; her hair and much of her face was entirely obscured by a religious scarf.<p>

"I see I have managed to scare the ex-Marine," she mused, her blue eyes sparkling.

"No such thing as an ex-Marine," he growled, glaring at her. He looked her over suspiciously. She opened her hand and showed him her Mossad ID, not at all offended that he did not trust her; it was understandable, as he could not see her face clearly.

She turned, and led him in the usual direction.

"I drove alone this time," she said brightly, with the air of a teenager bragging. Gibbs narrowed his eyes.

"Is that legal?" he asked.

"Of course not, it is preposterous to let someone my age drive," she answered seriously. "My brother has been teaching me. I am better than Ziva."

Gibbs was not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, considering Ziva was said to be a very good driver. In fact, Gibbs wasn't sure he liked Israel's "good driver" standards.

He shook his head, and then pointed at Tali's headscarf.

"Why are you wearing that?"

"Oh, the _hijab_?" she asked, as if she had just noticed. "It is nothing. I was in Palestine this morning assisting with Medical care in an orphanage. It is respectful of Islam to cover my hair," she explained. "The orphanage was in a Mosque," she added, when Gibbs gave her a blank look.

He nodded, accepting the explanation.

"They made you leave orphans to get me?" he asked gruffly, raising an eyebrow.

She laughed airily.

"Not at all, Agent Gibbs," she said. "They made me leave Palestine because a band of insurgents opened fire on me. It is nothing to worry about; happens frequently. If I had died, Ziva would have fetched you."

Gibbs stared at her, perturbed by her way of speaking. She looked at him and grinned, shrugging as if to say: _This is Israel. It happens_.

Still, it bothered him. Tali was so young. She was still sixteen, he was sure; soon to be seventeen.

She was…Kelly's age; or the age Kelly would be—and for some reason, that drew him to her.

Tali looked at him and grinned.

"Are you very happy to see your daughter?"

* * *

><p>Jenny heard a noise in the hall and she knew it was Jethro. He was ahead of schedule, but she had her day cleared—unless an emergency cropped up—and it was no hassle that he was early. She would rather he was early than late.<p>

She heard his footfalls, though, and a rush of stress and panic snapped through her, making her lightheaded for a moment. She stood out of her chair, reaching to brush her hair back, glanced around to check the cleanliness of the room—as if Jethro would care—and then, irrationally, looked in the mirror. She wondered briefly if she was supposed to look nice, or professional—or how the hell he would expect her to look, and then realized such a thought was silly, and she was going to meet him in her yoga pants and loose v-neck.

In other words, her "Mom Look".

She had been cleaning up spilled formula, and placed the rag down and turned to peer at Madeleine—the baby was happily playing in her pen—when Jethro opened the door.

He caught sight of her immediately, and dropped his bag on the floor, his face unreadable for a moment. Jenny moved forward hesitantly, reaching to close the door behind him. She pushed it shut and took his arm, sort of as if to shake his hand.

"Jenny," he greeted under his breath, shaking her arm off and then reaching around to hug her.

She felt him looking over her shoulder. His hug was firm and comfortable, and she squeezed his shoulders in welcome, smiling a little in relief.

"Where is she?" he asked in her ear, his low voice giving her chills.

She pulled back slowly, tilting her head.

Jenny reached into the play pen and picked Madeleine up swiftly, balancing the almost-one-year-old on her hip. She smoothed the wrinkles from Madeleine's new, purple dress and smiled at her daughter, taking a deep breath.

"Madeleine," she said softly, slowly taking the little girl's hand away from her mouth. Madeleine held a troll doll in her hand, the hair wet with slobber. She widened her eyes when Jenny moved it away, her mouth open, eyes inquiring. Jenny tickled her stomach a little, and then moved closer to Jethro, pointing.

"Madeleine, look who's here," she said quietly, a smile on her face. "Who did I say was coming to see you for your birthday, honey?" she asked.

Madeleine stared at Jethro, her attention caught by the new face. She had her hands on Jenny's shoulder, watching Jethro silently, as if unsure. He smiled at her, refraining from making any overly confident moves. He raised his hand and waved.

"Who is that, Madeleine?" Jenny coaxed. "You remember what Mommy says? 'Da-Da'," she coaxed, nodding at Jethro.

"Don't worry, Jen," Jethro said, waving his hand. He looked anxious to get his hands on her.

"No, she can say it," Jenny insisted. "I had her repeating it the other day," she said. Jenny took Madeleine's hand and held it towards Jethro. She indicated to Jethro with her eyes that he should take it; he did.

Startled, Madeleine pulled back a little, her eyes wide.

"Ehma," she said, her voice going up. She looked at Jenny. "Ma-ma," she said.

Jenny nodded, pointing back to Jethro.

"Safe," she said. "Very safe, _ahuva_," she soothed. "This is Da-Da," she said again.

Jethro moved closer, holding out his hands calmly; patiently.

"You want to go see him? Say 'hello'?" Jenny asked, tilting her head. She started to hand Madeleine over.

Her green eyes still wide, Madeleine didn't protest. She let Jethro take her and stared at him curiously. She put her hand to her mouth, inserting her thumb. Jenny frowned.

"I thought she might say it, if I coaxed her," Jenny said.

"It's fine," Jethro said absently, hardly even noticing what Jenny had said. He wrapped his arm around Madeleine slowly, his palm resting on the back of her head. "Madeleine," he muttered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

He stroked her hair, holding her closely.

Jenny bit her lip and smiled, pleased that Madeleine wasn't crying or struggling to get back to Jenny.

Madeleine looked at Jethro, almost suspiciously. She took her hand out of her mouth and opened her palm wide, raising it above her head. She waved her hand a moment and then touched Jethro's mouth, dragging her fingers over his lips.

She giggled, her tongue showing between her baby teeth, and then shrieked.

Jethro grinned and kissed her again, resting his forehead against hers. Madeleine squirmed and looked at Jenny, comfortable for the time being. Jenny smiled at her encouragingly, nodding her head.

"Madeleine, he's Da-Da," she said. "He tells the stories. You see his picture," she explained.

"A-BAH!" squealed Madeleine, picking at Jethro's arm with her small hands. She squeezed him, and laughed, amused by Jenny's earnest antics.

Jenny laughed.

"I'm almost positive it was an accident," Jenny said, stepping closer to brush Madeleine's fine hair back, "but that's '_Daddy'_ in Hebrew."

* * *

><p>It seemed to Jenny that he had not taken his eyes of Madeleine since the moment he walked in, and so when she discovered Jethro looking at her intently, she was taken aback—and blushed.<p>

He smirked, and sat back a little. She smiled, questioning what his expression was for, and steadied Madeleine before she fell, noticing her precarious balance instinctively.

Jenny was perched on the end of the rocking chair, letting Madeleine stand shakily between her knees. Jethro had taken up a place on the floor, eye-level with Madeleine. It was more often he than Jenny who would reach out to keep Madeleine from stumbling and falling over.

Jenny reached out and stroked Madeleine's soft hair, pushing wisps of it back gently. The baby tilted her head up and eyed Jenny curiously, smiling happily. She reached toward Jenny with one hand.

"Ehma," she cooed, content, beaming at Jenny.

"She says that word a lot," Jethro observed gruffly.

Jenny looked at him, and nodded in agreement.

"It's what she calls me," Jenny explained. His brow furrowed suspiciously and he frowned.

"What is it?"

"It's 'Mama'," Jenny explained flippantly. "It's a mash-up, between 'Ma-ma' and 'Ima'."

"She doesn't know the English?"

"I think she gets confused," Jenny said. "I speak English to her, and Tali speaks both, Ziva usually only converses in Hebrew."

"Hmpf," Jethro sounded less than pleased about that piece of information. He leaned forward again and reached out, placing his hand over Madeleine's. Madeleine cocked her head at the action and began playing with his fingers, murmuring to herself.

"I've been trying to help her understand," Jenny began, faltering slightly. She frowned. "She recognizes your voice, I think. Your tapes put her to sleep."

He looked up, eyebrows raised. He made a noise in his throat and shrugged.

"Nah, she has no idea, Jen," he said bluntly, under no illusions. He knew he was just a novelty to his daughter.

He wriggled his fingers and she giggled, gripping one in her small hand and bending her head to bite it.

"Hey, that isn't kind," Jenny reprimanded, frowning dramatically. She gently lifted Madeleine's head back. Jethro grinned, leaning back again. He watched Madeleine intently, and then looked up at Jenny again.

"How've you been, Jenny?" he asked mildly.

She leaned forward onto her knees and shrugged, blowing out a long breath through her nose.

She tilted her head slowly from side to side, as if thinking about it.

"Tired," she decided on with a quiet laugh. She rubbed her forehead and looked at the baby, her shoulders falling. "Stressed," she added. She shook her head and stroked Madeleine's hair again, pursing her lips hesitantly. "This is the hardest thing I've ever done."

Jethro smirked, and arched an eyebrow.

"She's just a baby," he mocked benignly.

Jenny shook her head and groaned with a smile.

"You have no idea," she reprimanded.

He lifted Madeleine's hand and held it gently, running his thumb over her small fingers. He nodded his head slowly.

"Eh," he said quietly. "I have _some_ idea."

Jenny's mouth turned down at the corners, reminded subtly of Kelly.

"Kelly," she said softly, closing her eyes briefly in remembrance. She could have kicked herself.

Jethro didn't say anything. He leaned forward, draping his arms over his knees. Madeleine leaned back, unnerved by his sudden proximity. She stumbled and wobbled, about to fall again—Jenny caught her gently and picked her up, cradling her snugly in her arms and smiling.

"Are you ready for bed, _ahuva_?" she asked, wrinkling her nose. "Night-night?" she asked.

Madeleine covered her face and giggled, shaking her head uncertainly.

"Well, not _right_ away," Jenny explained. "Bath, then bottle. Then bed, does that sound good?"

Madeleine squirmed, wriggled some, and sat up on Jenny's lap, leaning against her breast quietly. Jenny looked at her, nodding at Jethro and then pointing at him seriously.

"Daddy is going to help," she said. "He can read you the Rabbit story tonight," Jenny added, widening her eyes happily.

Jenny smiled at Madeleine, but Madeleine just sat up and looked around, her eyes wide. Jenny wasn't sure if she was listening or contemplating her next actions. She touched her feet and looked up at Jenny.

Jenny looked at Jethro.

"I'll start the bath," she said, beginning to stand up. "You can have her a minute," she began, handing Madeleine over. Jethro took her expertly and kissed the top of her head, standing up effortlessly even with the baby in his arms.

Madeleine swiveled around quickly and reached for Jenny, noticing immediately that her mother was leaving.

"Ehma!" she cried, her voice rising in pitch.

"It's okay," Jenny soothed. "I'll be right back. You stay with Da-Da."

"EHMA!" shrieked Madeleine, her face crumpling.

She began to cry.

* * *

><p>Jenny threw a baby wash cloth down in frustration and leaned against the sink, covering her face and wrinkling her forehead. Of all nights, Madeleine had chosen this one to be completely uncooperative, and on top of that she had only cried louder when Jenny had tried to let Jethro care for her.<p>

Jenny herself felt like bursting into tears. It was more than awkward; she didn't know how to describe it. She had been running around all night trying to soothe Madeleine and yet remain firm and _still_ keep with the usual bed time routine, all the while Jethro hung back, trying to help but well aware that he was—for lack of a better description—scaring the baby.

She thought he was a stranger, and she was not accustomed to him—and once the novelty of a visitor wore off, Madeleine just wanted her Mom and in her mind there was just some unknown man looming at every corner.

The bathroom was a mess and she didn't feel like cleaning it up now. She had finally managed to get Madeleine to sleep and had sneaked out of the nursery. She wasn't sure where Jethro had wandered off to; she hadn't seen him.

Jenny looked around the bathroom in dismay and shoved away from the sink, storming out. She swiped the light off forcefully and marched into the parlor, pushing her hair back tensely. It was then she saw Jethro, and stopped.

He was sitting stiffly on the edge of her sofa, his hands in his lap, staring ahead as if he saw something she didn't. She tried to calm herself down, and she lowered her hand from her hair, rubbing her shoulder anxiously.

Quietly, she crossed the room and sat down next to him on the couch. She licked her lips, her eyes roaming over him while he sat in silence. She sighed softly, tilting her head forward.

"Jethro," she ventured tiredly, asking unspoken questions.

He shifted, as if he hadn't noticed she was there, and glanced at her briefly. He smirked sardonically and leaned forward, reaching up to press his palm against his forehead.

"She doesn't know who I am, Jen," he said gruffly, after a few more minutes of the very loud silence.

Jenny bit her lower lip, if for no other reason than to keep it from trembling. Immediately, her mind struggled for words of comfort or denial, but she couldn't find them. She knew he was right.

"She has to get used to you," Jenny said earnestly. "She was so little when you were with her."

He clenched his fist on his knee as if to say he didn't want to hear her feeble excuses.

"She cries when you leave her with me."

"Madeleine is clingy. She knows she's safe with me."

"She's safe with me, Jen," he said sharply. "She _needs_ to know that. I _want_ her to know that."

Jenny nodded. She sighed and leaned back, propping her elbow on the back of the couch. She closed her eyes tightly, frowning. Her head ached.

"It's only your first day here," she reminded him, trying something. She didn't know what to say; she couldn't imagine walking into a room and having Madeleine not recognize her, and on some level, she had expected all of her efforts to condition the baby to the idea of Jethro to succeed spectacularly.

He rubbed his jaw roughly and then looked at his palm.

"Kelly…used to run to the door when I came home. She'd hug me before she stopped _running_—" he stopped abruptly and lifted his hand to his face again, covering his eyes. He fell eerily quiet and became very still.

Jenny laid her hand on his back, parting her lips slightly.

She felt sick to her stomach, thinking of what he'd been through, but his words felt like a slap in the face. It was as if he thought _her_ daughter wasn't as good as Kelly—

"Jethro, I'm trying," she said, her voice cracking. "I'm doing the best I can. I live half way across—I talk to her about you—I can't help—" her words became disjointed as she tried to keep her composure.

She lost hold of it.

"She's _not_ Kelly, Jethro. I hate it that she doesn't know you; it makes me guilty and sick and I can't imagine how much it _hurts_ not to have your Kelly, but it isn't Madeleine's fault—she can't replace—she's different—you can't blame her for crying, she doesn't understand and I—you can't compare her to—" Jenny broke off, turning her head away.

She removed her hand from Jethro's back, trying to hide her face better. She felt very small and shaken, hearing Jethro talking about his late daughter. Kelly had been a little girl he chose to have—whom he had wanted, and Madeleine was just an accident that tied him to Jenny after she'd left him.

He leaned back abruptly, his shoulder hitting hers. He snatched her hand away from her face as if trying to catch her crying. She mustered enough energy to glare at him a bit.

"She won't ever replace Kelly," he snapped harshly. He ignored the stricken look on Jen's face, because he knew what he was going to say next; she didn't. "I don't _want_ her to, Jen. I _want_ her to run to me when she sees me," he explained aggressively, trying to get the point across.

Jenny lifted her shoulders helplessly, asking silently what she could possibly do to facilitate that.

"She can't even walk yet," she said weakly.

Jethro snorted, lifting an eyebrow.

Jenny rubbed her eyes, pressing her lips together. She looked down at her lap, shaking her head silently. He made a noise of frustration in the back of his throat.

"I miss her, Jen," he said scratchily.

She looked up at him through her lashes. She didn't know if he was talking about Kelly or Madeleine. Maybe he meant both. She didn't care; either way, it was hurting him. Jenny reached over and slipped her arms around his neck, turning her face into his hair. She closed her eyes.

He seemed taken aback for a moment, but recovered quickly, and returned the gesture. He pressed his palm against the back of her neck, his other hand resting against her hip.

Jenny had almost forgotten how warm Jethro always was. She took a deep breath, raising her eyes to the ceiling. She felt like she should pull away now, but he felt so good, she just wanted to fall asleep on him. Reluctantly, she chose the former, and lifted her head slowly, giving him a sort of grim, apologetic look.

She opened her mouth a little, fumbling for something to say.

"I think I heard the baby," was what came out of her mouth.

He shook his head.

"No, you didn't," he said simply.

She tilted her head, frowning. She arched an eyebrow, impressing upon him that she had obviously been attempting to break the strange romance of the situation. His hand felt heavy and familiar on her hip.

Jenny drew her hands away from him, letting them fall to his lap. She inadvertently brushed the waist of his jeans and he gave a slight wince, jumping slightly. Jenny stared at her hand, her mouth open. She looked back up, and reached up abruptly, curling her hand around his neck.

She kissed him first, but she wasn't sure he was particularly opposed to it. He pressed back, leaning over her after a minute, pressuring her to bend back towards the couch. She braced a hand on his chest, her head rushing unsteadily.

He kissed her the same way he used to, but there was some sort of difference to it—something she couldn't place. Not worse than before—better; intoxicating. Jenny fought to keep him from instinctively pinning her under him; she tried to shift more comfortably and slipped, her mouth yanked unceremoniously away from his.

She laughed uncertainly, avoiding his eyes, a flush creeping up her neck. Her eyes stung and she straightened up, pushing her hair back—giving her hands something to do. He leaned back, his eyes on her intently. He narrowed them.

Jenny reached up and scratched her ear nervously, swallowing steadily.

"You want to go to bed?" she asked. She sounded as if she'd just run a marathon.

Jethro just arched an eyebrow.

She closed her eyes, tilting her head to the ceiling.

"I'm tired," she amended, fixing the suggestive statement. "I—Jethro, I don't think the sex would be worth your while, at the moment," she teased weakly, shrugging her shoulders.

He snorted, shaking his head. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"You think you'd fall asleep?" he asked, lightening the mood.

"No," she answered indignantly. "I think I'd cry," she hissed threateningly.

He smirked, reaching out to touch her hand. He slipped his fingers into hers and she saw him swallow, staring down at her hand for a minute. He cleared his throat, and gestured at the sofa they sat on.

"I'll sleep here," he volunteered.

She pursed her lips.

"It will destroy your back," she remarked. "You can't do that for twelve days; even Tali wouldn't survive. You can sleep in the bed; it's huge. We don't have to touch," she informed him, as if they were school children, each afraid of the opposite gender.

He gave her a skeptical look.

She rubbed her nose and stood up, nodding her head towards the bedroom. She shot the still messy bathroom a brooding look as she passed, deciding to let Jethro follow her if he wanted to.

Jenny rubbed her eyes and changed clothes, slipping into shorts and an old t-shirt for bed. She turned the baby monitor up and paused; she heard the soft sounds of Madeleine's peaceful breathing, and someone moving around in the room. She almost dropped the monitor at her feet and ran into the room, guns blazing—before she realized it was Jethro.

She set the monitor down and decreased the volume a little, letting him have a moment. She yawned and quickly twisted her hair into a braid, collapsing on the edge of the bed. Jethro walked in casually.

"Is she okay?" Jenny asked.

He nodded curtly.

"She still sucks her thumb?"

Jenny rolled her eyes. She nodded and rubbed her forehead.

"I'm not too worried about it yet," she muttered. Jethro shrugged, giving her a look of agreement. He glanced at the wall that separated her room and the nursery and then walked to the opposite side of the bed.

Jenny pulled back the blankets and threw herself in bed, curling up in a way that was familiar to him. She watched him alertly, feeling oddly disconnected from the situation. It was strange to have Jethro getting into bed with her when he was neither naked nor intending on being so.

She looked up at the ceiling, and then turned on her side, reaching for the bedside lamp that was all she used at night. She clicked it off. She felt him lay down next to her almost suspiciously, as if he were expecting her to rescind the invitation. He was uncomfortable—or if not uncomfortable, he was frustrated.

She took a few deep breaths, tired, as she'd said, and trying not to begin mentally picking apart the kiss they had just engaged in.

"Jen," he ventured after minutes of the silence.

"Hmmm?"

"What's the nickname you call her?"

"What nickname?" she asked, turning over, her brow furrowed. She squinted in the dark, trying to focus on him better.

He moved his hand.

"Started with an 'a'?" he prompted. She could almost see the dark circles of his eyes in the dark.

"Oh," she said, laying her head back down. She settled on her stomach, closing her eyes lazily. "_Ahuva_," she answered.

"What does it mean?" Jethro asked.

"Love," she answered sleepily. "It's like saying 'honey' or 'sweetheart'," she explained.

He made a noise of understanding.

Jenny shifted her head again after a moment, crossing her arms under her ear to give her some height.

"You want to talk about her?" she offered quietly.

"Yeah," he answered gruffly, rolling onto his side next to her.

She swallowed, trying to organize everything she wanted to say.

There was so much to tell, and she so rarely received a chance to talk about her baby.

* * *

><p>Madeleine stood on Tali's lap, held tightly around the waist by her teenage admirer. She smiled happily, one of her hands gripping Tali's for support and the other reaching out to Gibbs.<p>

"I did tell you," Tali was saying happily. "She loves the duck."

Jethro was holding the stuffed quacking duck he had sent his daughter for Christmas. She beamed and leaned forward, grasping for it.

"Duh," Madeleine insisted, gripping the duck's beak and tugging on it. Gibbs leaned forward a little, letting her have more of it. "Duh!"

"She's saying 'duck'," Tali announced.

Jenny snorted quietly. Gibbs glanced at her, and Tali just rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

"Jenny never thinks Madeleine is talking," she announced.

"She isn't talking," Jenny said, turning around with a sippy cup in her hand. "She's just making noises."

"Well, 'duh' sounds an awful lot like an attempt at 'duck'."

"Bah," Madeleine said.

Jenny arched an eyebrow. She walked over to the table and handed Gibbs the sippy cup, reaching out to stroke Madeleine's hair fondly.

"What's she saying now, Tali?" Jenny patronized.

"Hmmm," Tali mused thoughtfully. "'Bah'," she pursed her lips and tilted her head, looking at Madeleine happily. "Bottle," the young Israeli decided slyly.

Gibbs picked up the cup.

"Bottle?" he asked, holding it up enticingly to Madeleine.

The baby stopped, holding the duck in her one hand and looking at Gibbs intently. She eyed the sippy cup and swiveled around, looking at Jenny momentarily. She whined indecisively, as if she didn't understand. Gibbs set the cup back down and leaned back, settling the duck on his lap.

"Come here," he said, beckoning towards himself in a friendly way. He squeezed the duck and made it quack.

Tali smiled widely.

"Do you want to sit with your Papa?" she asked, sweeping her arm under Madeleine's bottom and beginning to hand her over. Madeleine's eyes stayed on the duck. Gibbs took her and placed his arms around her protectively, situating her in his lap and handing her the duck.

Jenny leaned on the kitchen table, watching intently.

"He is not so unfamiliar anymore, hmmm?" Tali cooed gently, leaning forward on her knees. She patted Gibbs' knee, drawing Madeleine's attention. "_Aba_," she said clearly. "_Aba_," she said again, tapping his leg.

Gibbs shook his head.

"English," he said shortly. "Teach her the English," he insisted. He bent his head, looking at Madeleine, and pointed to himself. "Da-da," he said, tapping his chest.

"Da-Da," Tali complied, tapping his leg again.

Madeleine started at Gibbs. She twisted, watched Tali's actions. She hugged the duck and then reached out to Tali's hand, mimicking her actions. Madeleine tapped Jethro's knee, and giggled, her eyes brightening.

Tali grinned.

"I suppose that is a start," she said, slouching back in her chair. She turned her head sharply to Jenny and lifted her brows. She spoke in Hebrew, and Jenny answered, shrugging her shoulders.

"Where is Ziva?" Jenny asked, switching to English.

"I do not know, she is off being Ziva," Tali replied vaguely, waving her hand. "She and Ari got into it. I believe she is probably breast-trapping his room."

Gibbs snorted, staring at Tali.

"What?" Tali asked, her brow furrowing.

"It's 'booby-trapping'," Jenny supplied, smirking. Tali spoke in Hebrew again. Jenny answered.

Jethro glared at her.

"Why do you keep doing that?" he demanded.

Tali looked surprised.

"I do not know the English word for what I am asking," she explained. She looked at Jenny for help.

"Cupcakes," the redhead supplied.

"Ah," Tali said. "Cupcakes," she repeated—but her accent sounded heavy. She smiled, pressing her hands together suddenly. "Ha, as if they are tiny cakes, baked in cups! How amusing," she said, wrinkling her nose.

Gibbs stared at her.

Jenny reached across and swatted him in the shoulder.

"Give her a break, she's trying," Jenny admonished under her breath.

"Is Agent Gibbs making fun of me?" Tali asked brightly, tilting her head at him.

"No," Jenny lied, straightening up. She put her hand on her hip and looked at the doorway. "You said you wanted to wait for Ziva."

Tali sighed and slumped down.

"I have changed my mind. I am seventeen. I can do that."

Gibbs smirked and turned his attention back to Madeleine, watching her wrinkle her nose and rub it in a sort of butterfly kiss against her duck. She bounced the stuffed animal up and down, giggling madly when it quacked.

"I made cupcakes for Madeleine's birthday," Tali announced proudly. "I wanted to purchase a cake, but Jenny would not allow it. I thought cupcakes were low key as well as celebratory," she explained. She tilted her head at Jenny. "Someone had to make them. I do not know if you are aware, but Jenny is incapable of cooking."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes slightly and nodded solemnly. More than a few unfortunate cooking incidences came to mind. Jenny pointed at him seriously.

"You keep your mouth shut," she ordered. "Do not give this one any ammunition," she added, tapping Tali on the skull with her extended finger.

"If it were not for me, the poor darling would not even have cupcakes on her birthday," Tali sighed dramatically.

"You always make me sound like the bad guy," Jenny groused.

"But you are a woman, Jenny," Tali answered, looking at her in confusion.

Jethro snorted in amusement again.

"It's an expression, Tali," Jenny said, smiling. She folded her arms across her chest and watched Madeleine amuse herself in Jethro's lap.

Madeleine seemed to be warming up to Jethro. He had been here four days and Madeleine was much more amenable to being held by him or watched by him. She still fussed when he tried to involve himself in bedtime routines. Jenny was noticing that Madeleine was clingier than she had initially thought; but then, Madeleine did not have any experience with people outside the small, very secretive sphere of Mossad.

It was her first birthday, and Jenny was feeling considerably detached from the situation. She had difficulty believing Madeleine was a year old, because she did not feel like she had spent enough time fawning over her and devoting her life to her like mothers were supposed to—no, she had spent most of her time hectically trying to balance tending to Madeleine's needs whilst doing her own job and keeping Jethro in the loop, and she felt like things had been rushed and she had somehow missed everything.

She knew that was an exaggeration, but she felt panicked about it. This day last year she had been grappling with the reality that she even _had_ a baby; now Madeleine was a part of her life.

The little girl looked so different than she had—obviously. She was green-eyed and curious, and her hair was thickening every day; she had small, cute baby teeth and she was pudgy and mostly happy and calm.

Jenny was desperate to know what Jethro thought when he looked at her.

"Jenny, I have borrowed your hairspray."

Ziva entered the room abruptly, interrupting Jenny's reflective reverie. Jenny looked at her sharply, frowning.

"All of it?" she asked.

Ziva tilted her head.

"I shall have to rephrase," she said. "I took your hairspray. All of it. I will replace it. You need not ask for further explanation."

Jenny glared at her partner suspiciously. Tali giggled.

"What did you do to him, Ziva?"

Ziva shrugged her shoulders brazenly.

"If Ari feels that explosions are so utterly amusing, we shall see how he likes what he finds in his bureau."

Tali cackled. She leapt out of her seat.

"Father is going to be so angry with you, Zee," she announced gleefully. The teenager clapped her hands and went up on her tiptoes excitedly. "Cupcakes?" she asked hopefully. Jenny nodded, giving her the go-ahead.

"You need not have waited on me," Ziva said mildly.

Madeleine looked at the newcomer. She lifted her hand and waved, her eyes wide. Ziva tilted her head and waved back hesitantly after a moment.

"Hello, Madeleine," she greeted calmly. "Does she know it is her birthday?" Ziva asked Gibbs, arching her eyebrow.

"No," he answered bluntly. He shrugged. Ziva gave him a small smile and slipped past Jenny to the refrigerator, opening it, and looking for something to drink.

"That is okay. Tali knows it for her," she said fondly, her voice slightly muffled.

Jenny sat down in Tali's vacated chair and leaned forward, scooting it a little closer. She reached out and stroked Madeleine's cheek, tilting the baby's head back and kissing her crown of silky hair.

"I know it's your birthday," she murmured softly. Ziva set something down loudly on the counter; only Gibbs heard what Jenny said. He smiled at her, rubbing Madeleine's back gently.

Madeleine looked at Jenny, smiling. She reached out and touched Jenny's nose, her tongue between her two front teeth cutely. Jenny wrinkled her nose and grasped Madeline's hand gently, making her fingers walk up her daughter's arm like a spider.

Madeleine squealed and recoiled, smiling. She snuggled up to Gibbs' chest, trying to escape from Jenny's tickling. Jenny held up her hands playfully, as if coming for the attack, and Madeleine buried her face in Gibbs' shirt, shaking her head back and forth rapidly.

Jenny sat up a little, giving him a triumphant, close-lipped smile. She raised her eyebrows.

Gibbs put an arm around Madeleine and smiled, looking down at her hidden head.

"Oh, baby," Jenny said softly, tickling the bottom of Madeleine's foot. "Oh, are you hiding? You think he can protect you?" she asked.

Madeleine peeked at her. She lunged over and took Jenny's hand, and then laughed. Smiling, Jenny snatched Madeleine from Gibbs without warning and pressed her lips to the baby's forehead, coaxing Madeleine to stand in her lap.

She tilted her head up, pursing her lips.

Gibbs leaned back, placing the stuffed duck on the table. He watched Jenny interact with Madeleine. Jenny smoothed Madeleine's yellow-and-purple dress and fixed the crooked bow on the back, all while balancing the baby in her lap. He smirked.

Tali burst back into the room, singing quietly in Hebrew. She set a tray down on the table, and it revealed itself to be full of iced cupcakes in a variety of colours.

"Look, Madeleine," Jenny coaxed, turning towards the table. "Aren't they pretty?"

Tali beamed, her eyes lighting up. She pulled a candle and a lighter from her back pocket. Deftly, the teenager grabbed an orange-iced cupcake, popped the candle in it, and then handed the candle and lighter to Gibbs.

"You do the honours," she offered warmly, sitting down to watch.

Silently, Gibbs flicked his thumb to ignite the lighter. He set the cupcake down on the edge of the table and lit the wick, turning to watch Madeleine. Jenny pointed, her hand close to Madeleine's face.

Immediately entranced, Madeleine reached out to touch the flame.

Instinctively, both Gibbs and Jenny reached out and grabbed her hand, trapping her fingers in both of theirs.

"_Lo_," Jenny said, at the same time Gibbs gave a stern "_no_." He was not quite sure when Jenny had snapped into Hebrew. Madeleine tried to tug her hand out of the firm grip of both parents.

Quickly, Jenny leaned forward and blew out the candle.

Gibbs gently released Madeleine's hand, the danger gone.

Jenny laughed, letting out a breath.

She wrapped her arms tightly around a disgruntled looking Madeleine and shook her head a little, smirking.

"You should have seen her at Hanukkah," she quipped wryly.

* * *

><p>Jenny smiled to herself as she hung up her cell phone, bidding Ducky farewell. It was kind of him to call and wish Madeleine a happy birthday.<p>

Jethro stood over by the changing table, still on the phone with one of his team. His voice was low and he sounded annoyed. He was instructing them on something. Shaking her head a little, Jenny turned her attention back to Madeleine, tilting her head. Madeleine gripped the edge of the window seat tightly, standing up steadily.

She looked at Jenny and at the plate of cut up watermelon in her hands and whined, letting go of the window seat to reach for one. She wriggled her fingers as if asking.

"Come here," Jenny patted her lap. "Sit down, or you'll get all messy," she coaxed.

Madeleine stared at Jenny's patting hand. She moved her mouth and whined again, shaking her head. Jenny patted her knee. Madeleine let go of the window seat and stood there unsteadily, looking surprised.

She turned and moved a foot towards Jenny.

Jenny sucked in her breath sharply and Jethro whipped around, alerted by the noise. He turned just in time to see Madeleine stumble and fall forward onto her hands and knees. Jenny barely had enough time to set aside the plate and catch her, preventing her from busting her nose on the floor.

Madeleine blinked in wide-eyed surprise. Jenny returned the wide-eyed look. It was that brief, quiet moment in which Jenny didn't know if Madeleine was going to start screaming. She didn't begin to cry, but settled for fussing quietly, and frowning.

"Aww," soothed Jenny, sweeping the one-year-old into her lap. "You're alright, _ahuva_," she murmured, kissing her head. "Very nice try," she whispered, nudging Madeleine's cheek with her own nose. She satisfied Madeleine by lifting a slice of watermelon to her mouth.

Jethro hung up his phone loudly, throwing it onto the changing table. He stood stiffly for a moment, watching Jenny hand-feed Madeleine the watermelon. Jenny smirked and arched an eyebrow at him.

"Tough day at work?" she asked slyly.

"Computer systems are down," he growled, irritated. "They don't know how to check fingerprints the old fashioned way."

Jenny rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

"Those babies," she patronized.

Jethro muttered under his breath and walked across the room, sitting down on the window seat. He looked down at Madeleine, watching Jenny feed her the watermelon.

"Looks like she likes that better than the cupcake," he remarked.

"Watermelon is her favorite," Jenny supplied, nodding in agreement. "I don't think she much likes sweets. She must get that from you."

"I don't like watermelon," Jethro said.

"Neither do I," Jenny said with a shrug. "But I craved it when I was pregnant," she picked up another slice and looked down at Madeleine raising her eyebrows. "It's _your_ fault I ate all that silly fruit," she informed her daughter.

"Babies don't inherit tastes," scoffed Jethro.

"They inherit attitude," Jenny fired back rapidly, raising an eyebrow at him. "And she's got yours."

"Stubborn, impatient, loud, and paranoid? Nope. All you," he responded wickedly, provoking Jenny just a little.

"Hmpf," Jenny muttered, shifting Madeleine in her lap. Her knee was threatening to fall asleep on her. She raised her eyes to the ceiling and pursed her lips, choosing not to respond. Jethro leaned forward on his knees and reached out, taking Madeleine's hand gently.

"Happy birthday, Maddie," he said, running his thumb over her fingers.

Jenny glared at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Why do you shorten everybody's name like that?" she asked.

"_What_?" he asked, exasperated.

"You call me 'Jen', you call Ducky 'Duck', and now you're calling her 'Maddie'."

"It's a nickname!"

"If I wanted her to be Maddie, I would have named her Maddie," Jenny retorted.

It was Jethro's turn to glare at her. He held Madeleine's hand flat in his palm. She watched him warily, trying to keep an eye on him and still munch on Jenny's watermelon. She was ending up getting it all over her face, to Jenny's dismay.

"I have to call her something," Jethro grumbled.

"Call her by her name!"

He scowled at her, reaching over to wipe some fruit juice off of Madeleine's cheek. She scooted back, surprised by the sudden action. She leaned into Jenny, her hand slipping out of Jethro's.

"Everyone _else_ calls her by her name," he muttered.

Jenny opened her mouth to retort and paused. Out of the blue, she understood that Jethro's penchant for nicknames wasn't a result of laziness; it was merely his way of personalizing a relationship and expressing affection.

She shut her mouth, but she hated the nickname Maddie. She half-hoped he would find something else.

Jenny made a face as Madeleine decided to make a meal of her fingers instead of the watermelon.

"Oh, honey," she mumbled. "Why?" she asked, quickly snatching up a burp cloth and wrapping it around Madeleine's hands before she could get herself all sticky. She had already been given a bath, and Jenny was tired enough to dread possibly having to clean up again.

"Just to frustrate Mommy," Jethro supplied, holding Madeleine's hands still for Jenny.

She squirmed, trying to escape their grasps, and giggled, thinking it a game. Jenny released her after a moment and she threw herself out of her mother's lap and onto all fours, crawling happily a few lengths forward.

"Where are you going?" Jenny asked playfully. She leaned forward and ticked the bottom of Madeleine's foot, getting up on her knees and drawing her back. "Let's not get all riled up. It's night-night time," she said.

Madeleine shook her head.

"No, it wasn't a choice," Jenny said seriously. Jethro snorted. He smirked at the look Jenny gave the baby. Madeleine shook her head again, putting her hands to her mouth and smiling through her fingers.

"Na," she said. "Na-na-na-na-na," she babbled.

Jenny nodded.

"Night-night," she said. She was unsure if Madeleine was trying to repeat the words, or if she was trying to say 'no'. However, Jenny knew the baby was tired. She had gone from fussy fits to content moods for the past two hours, one fit lasting the entirety of bath time.

Jenny stood deftly, brushing a few hairs off of Madeleine's cozy onesie. Jethro stood, too, and Jenny steeled herself for the next few minutes, taking a deep breath. She shifted Madeleine in her arms to face Jethro.

"Madeleine, can Da-Da put you to bed tonight?" Jenny asked, nodding her head. "Night-night?" Jenny said, nodding at Madeleine's crib. She pointed the baby to the rocking chair next and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, swaying a little.

Madeleine blinked at her uncertainly, shrinking closer to Jenny when Jenny turned back to Jethro and pointed at him. Jenny made a sign with her hand, and closed her eyes dramatically. She made another sign.

"Da-Da," she said aloud, making one sign, and then another. Madeleine stared at Jethro. She laid her head on Jenny's shoulder. Jenny frowned, standing still a moment. She tilted her head and then seemed to have an idea.

"Here," she said, handing Madeleine over gingerly. "Take her a minute," she ordered.

"Mama," Madeleine whined, shaking her head. She reached out to Jenny the moment Jethro secured her on his hip. Her lips trembled. "Ehma," she whined again.

Jenny clicked her tongue softly and went over to a bureau, her back turned.

"Shh," Jethro soothed quietly, patting his hand lightly against his daughter's back. He tilted his head at her, giving her a small smile. She quieted her fussing a little, bringing her thumb to her mouth. She stared at him, still so uncertain.

Jethro said the Hebrew word Jenny had told him Madeleine would recognize as an indication that he was trusted. She inserted her thumb into her mouth, eyeing him alertly.

Jenny shut a drawer and walked to the changing table, setting something down on it. Jethro looked up and moved forward a little, arching his neck around Madeleine to look. It was a tape recorder.

Jenny put her finger to her lips.

"Madeleine," she said, getting the baby's attention. "Story time," she said, smiling warmly as she picked up the recorder.

Madeleine reached out suddenly, pulling her thumb from her mouth. She wriggled her fingers at the tape and made hard "t" sounds, apparently recognizing the device. Jenny pressed play. It was eerie for a moment; Jethro heard his own voice coming out of the small speakers, carefully reading _The Velveteen Rabbit_.

Madeleine stopped moving and relaxed, smiling. She put her thumb back in her mouth. Jenny smiled encouragingly. She pointed at Jethro.

"Da-Da," she said earnestly.

Jethro stroked Madeleine's hair, frowning. He was tired of this routine.

"Jen, she doesn't understand. It isn't her fault," he said reluctantly. "Don't force it," he said.

He might have spoken too soon, though. Jenny repeated what she had said a little more gently, murmuring something else softly in Hebrew. Madeleine turned and looked at Jethro, looking at him solemnly with her small thumb securely in her mouth. She stared at him.

Jenny set the tape down without a sound. She held her breath for a minute. Jethro tilted his head, smiling a little.

"Sound familiar?" he asked his daughter.

She continued to look at him, her brow furrowing. Jethro bit back a laugh. Her look of concentration mirrored Jenny's. It seemed she was trying so hard to figure out what Jenny wanted her to understand.

Jenny lowered the tape's volume and then turned it off, stepping back.

"I'll go get her a little milk," she said softly. "Her copy of the book is in the basket by the rocking chair."

Jethro nodded, his eyes still on Madeleine as Jenny stealthily slipped out.

"Story time," he said, nodding his head. He carried her over to the rocking chair. He sat down, settling in carefully. Either Madeleine hadn't noticed her mother had left the room, or she had decided she was comfortable with Jethro. He hoped for the latter, but prepared for the former, in case she began to panic.

He shifted Madeleine, snuggling her on his lap in the crook of his arm, supported against his chest. He reached down and picked up the book, narrowing his eyes at the annoyingly small letters he saw on the first page.

Madeleine cooed softly and reached out, splaying her hand over the big picture of the boy and the rabbit.

She mumbled some nonsense, consonant and vowel sounds, and a mixture of recognizable and unrecognizable noises. She yawned. Jethro kissed the crown of her head, holding the book open, one of his arms around her shoulders. She tried to push the pages to turn them. Jethro smirked and helped, beginning to read in a low voice.

She sat up, touching things in a fussy way, and after a moment, she tumbled back against him giving a sort of sleepy sigh.

Jenny walked up on tiptoes, doing her best not to incite a _Mommy's-here!_ sort of excitement in the little girl. Jenny crouched down and offered the pre-bedtime bottled snack.

"Sleepy girl," she murmured, letting Madeleine take the bottle. She rested her hand on Jethro's thigh for leverage as she leaned forward to kiss the baby's cheek and nose. Jethro faltered in reading and looked down at her.

She made an apologetic face and crawled over to the window seat, leaning against it. She fell silent and watched Jethro read to Madeleine, biting the inside of her lip in a nervous habit. She sat quietly, wondering if Jethro would read the whole, long story or if he would simply stop when Madeleine fell asleep.

Madeleine tilted her head back and drank from the bottle, staring at Jethro as he read. Jenny smiled slightly, tilting her head back and looking up at the ceiling. She breathed out slowly, closing her eyes. It was a relief that Madeleine had finally warmed up to Jethro.

She had interacted with him easily, but only when others were around. He hadn't shown it, but Jenny knew Jethro had been considerably upset when Madeleine's recognition of Haswari was more comfortable than was hers of her own father. It didn't help that Jethro bore some sort of hatred towards Haswari.

They had spent some time alone with Madeleine after the Tali-induced cupcake festivities. Jenny had chosen to take her to a park in one of Tel-Aviv's upscale residential neighborhoods—in other words, a safe one that was sequestered from the public. Rare was the occasion that Madeleine was exposed to the Great Outdoors, and she reveled in it.

Madeleine had been given a few presents before bath time; more stuffed animals and dresses—the usual baby-appropriate things.

The last time Jethro had been here it had been a relief; he had helped to bear the burden of getting up with the baby, of changing her and caring for her. Jenny had unconsciously expected this time to be the same; she assumed she would get some more sleep, and stop feeling so tired and so stressed and worried. She had been wrong, however.

She still had her work and she still had the baby, but instead of Jethro as a helping hand, she was busy trying to accustom Madeleine to his presence and his role as one of her caregivers; she was twice as stressed and she was struggling with what seemed like ten different emotions, none of which the current sleeping arrangements helped.

"Jen," he said softly, interrupting her thoughts. She jumped slightly, surprised. He handed the nearly empty bottle down to her and she took it, standing up. She winced, rubbing the back of her neck. The position had not been too friendly.

"She's asleep?" Jenny murmured.

Jethro nodded. He gave her a better look at Madeleine. She was indeed asleep, her thumb in her mouth, sprawled out across the cradle of Jethro's arms like an over-sized newborn. Jenny smirked and touched her brow, nodding.

"Put her to bed," she said, squeezing Jethro's arm. She slipped past him and took the bottle out of the room, swallowing hard as she left him alone with Madeleine for the first time this visit.

Gibbs left the door to the nursery cracked slightly behind him. He blinked in the brighter light he walked into and stretched, looking around for Jenny. She came out of the bathroom as he was glancing around, pushing her hair back and flicking off the light.

She'd taken her make-up off and washed her face. He cocked his head, narrowing his eyes at her.

Her eyes were red.

"Jenny," he spoke, walking towards her. She glanced at him and bent to her computer, putting it to sleep for the night. Her shoulders hunched, she dusted off the screen, reached up to rub her forehead, and remained still in that stance, ignoring him.

Gibbs came up behind her and touched her shoulder.

She looked up, biting the inside of her cheek with compressed lips, and shook her head a little. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling, and a few tears escaped. She swore under her breath, her brows hardening in a frustrated line.

"I'm sorry," she ground out, still looking up. She waved her hand at him a little.

He shook his head.

"No," he muttered, moving his hand down to her forearm. "What's wrong?" he asked.

She ignored him as if she wasn't going to answer. Then she gestured to the nursery door with her hand and lifted her shoulders helplessly.

"It took a week for her to let you read a story to her," she said shakily. "And that was with me in the room." She bit her lip, letting her shoulders down in dismay. "You don't have that much time left."

He swallowed, nodding. He had managed to end up with twelve days vacation, but it was coming to a close all too fast. Jenny closed her eyes and hung her head; a few tears slipped from under her eyelashes.

"My dad was Army. I hated it when he was away. I was always so scared when he was away, and when I was little, he was like some magical guest in my house. It was worse after my mother left—then he was all I had, and I'd cry myself to sleep when he was overseas," she paused, throwing a desperate look at the nursery. She shook her head.

"I'm putting her through that," she said hoarsely. "_How_ can I justify putting her through that? I thought I could make her recognize you, Jethro. I—" she stopped, throwing her hands up and then planting one supportively on her desk. She placed the other on her hip.

He lowered his chin, looking at her silently.

She looked at him, her eyes wet.

"Did you know my mother left?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"Figured she died," he said gruffly. Jenny shook her head sarcastically.

"She left when I was eight," she explained. "She said the mothering thing wasn't for her," Jenny snorted, biting her lip. "I think it's hereditary."

"Jenny, shut up," he said, slightly exasperated.

She looked at him angrily.

"I feel like what I'm giving her isn't good enough!"

"You love her, Jenny, you're not going to abandon her—I'm not," he retorted seriously. "You do what you can—I was military, too," he said pointedly. "It didn't mean I loved my family any less—and me not being here sure as hell doesn't mean I love Madeleine any less," he growled.

Her eyes widened and she shook her head.

"No," she gasped. "I wasn't—Jethro, that isn't what I meant. I know you love her," she soothed quietly.

He looked frustrated; made uncomfortable by the tears he didn't quite understand. His jaw tightened.

"You chose this, Jen," he said. "You and I have to live with it—"

She scoffed.

"What was I supposed to do, Jethro, stick around to see if I accidentally got pregnant before I hit the road?" her voice broke and she smiled sardonically.

He opened his mouth, pissed off by the comment. He stood silently for a moment and thrust a finger at her.

"I didn't want you to leave," he snapped, pointing back at his own chest. "I have to make the best of the situation. That's all we can do," he hissed at her, his blue eyes darkening. "You didn't give me any other choice."

She drew back, biting her lip.

"What other choice was there?" she asked harshly. "There was no chance of me giving up this position—what would I have done? I wasn't going to run back to you with all of my regrets _just_ because of the baby. Our relationship was over, but you had a right to know about her—"

"And this is how we live," he interrupted, gesturing around. "I don't like it, Jen, but I'd do it over again if it meant you kept Madeleine," he said firmly.

Jenny closed her mouth, leaning back a little. She wrapped her arm around her stomach and bent forward, bowing her head. She looked back up at him; tears still dropping slowly down her cheeks. She reached up and rubbed her nose and then moved away from the desk.

She turned and looked back at him.

"I would, too," she said shakily, her face crumpling. "She deserves a more stable family than this, Jethro, she deserves a mother who's not so selfish and incompetent."

"Christ," he swore under his breath, storming away from the desk. "Bad mothers aren't the ones who think they're bad mothers, Jen!" he barked in a low voice, glaring at her. "Bad mothers don't give a _damn_ about their own shortcomings—hell, they don't think they have any! As long as it tears you up to think you might do anything to hurt her then you're a good mother!"

He crossed the room in a few strides and took her shoulders, squeezing them tightly in the palms of his hands.

"You're doing fine, Jen," he said aggressively. "She's beautiful. She's healthy. She's happy—what the hell are you so worried about?"

She stared at him in shock, her eyes wide. She pressed her lips together and slowly wet them, her shoulders slumping in his grip. A flash of sheepish shame flickered through her eyes and she looked away from his eyes, focusing on his shoulders.

She cleared her nasal passage, parting her lips hesitantly.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He nodded, reaching up to brush tears away with his thumb. He pressed his palm to her neck and studied her intently, the heated words of their conversation arranging themselves in his mind in a more organized manner. He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes.

Jenny reached up and wrapped her hand around his wrist, holding him tightly. She nodded, a muscle in her jaw jumping nervously.

His brow furrowed a little.

"Regrets?" he repeated, reaching back into her words, picking out that one.

"Just do it, Jethro," she said sharply. She tugged on his wrist—he never did take much coaxing.

He kissed her, much harder than he had that first day of his visit. It was more possessive, more certain; a kiss in which he was sure of himself because he had explicit permission.

Her nails dug into his wrist, tight from her grip. She reached out and hooked three fingers into his jeans, pulling him closer. Gibbs groaned, moving his hand to the back of her head. He felt her tongue in his mouth, and he thought any remaining semblance of restraint might snap then and there: it really was like coming back from war.

Gibbs reached for the front of her shirt, fumbling for buttons, put out when he found none—and remembered she was in lounge clothing; her shirt had to come off over her head. He broke contact with her lips and pulled the shirt up by the hem, roughing up her hair in his rush to get it off.

She grabbed the shirt and stopped him from removing it, shaking her head a little. She glanced past him briefly to the nursery door and then turned, jerking her head towards the bedroom. He followed her, shutting the door behind him.

She flicked off the light as he reached out for her, taking her arm and then her hip in his hands, pushing her back towards the bed. The action, however, made him stop. He reached back and turned it back on, arching an eyebrow.

"Turn it back off," she said, reaching past him. He took her hand.

"Your tastes change?" he asked skeptically, shaking his head. She let him push her back again and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back. He crawled over her, his knees on either side of her thighs, itching to let his eyes roam over her. He had missed her more than she could imagine. He had never wanted this to end.

She frowned, touching the hem of her shirt. He began to push it up, his eyes on hers, and she grabbed his hand, her expression faltering.

"I don't look the same," she said in a rush, swatting his hand. "I have stretch marks," she warned.

He stared at her, his mind fuzzy. He tried very hard to remember why the hell that would matter at all. After about sixty seconds of finding no reason, he lowered his mouth to her ear and kissed her, drawing her shirt up again.

"I don't care," he growled, pulling the bothersome shirt over her head and pressing his rough hands to her sides. He ran his fingers up over her ribs to the cotton, soft straps of her bra and closed his eyes.

Jenny reached between them and hooked her fingers into his jeans again, arching her hips up to meet his. He groaned, a strained look crossing his face.

"We shouldn't do this," she murmured, her voice breaking in a gasp, dissolving into a moan, as he bit her neck just right, and his hand trailed up her spine.

"Huh-uh," he agreed absently, lowering his lips to her shoulder. She lifted her leg and pressed it against him, the old memories of how good this used to be accosting her senses. She gasped, tilting her head back into pillows.

She pressed her lips to his ear, splaying her hand against the back of his neck. Jenny half-closed her eyes, biting her lip. She ignored her own admonishment. She missed him. Every time she looked at Madeleine, she regretted leaving him—and somehow, this time, each time he touched her the connection was so strong it blindsided her.

* * *

><p>Jenny was vaguely aware that Madeleine had woken up and was crying. The monitor sounded far away, but it was slowly getting louder as it drew her more and more out of a very deep, very refreshing sleep.<p>

She lifted her head and blinked, surprised by a heavy impediment to her movement. Jethro's arm was draped across her back lazily. Fumbling, Jenny reached for the monitor, listening a moment, and blinking blearily at her clock.

Madeleine rarely awoke in the middle of the night anymore. She furrowed her brow.

"Mmm," she muttered to herself, starting to sit up. She tilted her head, hesitating. She waited to see if Madeleine would calm down on her own.

"Is she up?" Jethro asked next to her, his voice low, gruff, and muffled by blankets.

"Yeah," answered Jenny thickly. She sat up a little more, rubbing her eyes. He pushed up on one arm, looking at the clock. His hair was sticking up.

"I'll get her," he mumbled, reaching out and running his hand over her shoulder. He leaned over and kissed her temple.

Jenny's brow furrowed and she shook her head, pushing covers off.

"No, she's calling me," she said, yawning. She picked up a shirt off the floor and put it on, rubbing the back of her neck. "I'll get her," she said, slipping out of the bedroom.

She walked lightly to the nursery and pushed the door open, putting on a sleepy smile when she saw Madeleine standing up, red-faced and teary-eyed, in the crib.

"Oh, my," Jenny cooed, reaching in to pick the little girl up. She cuddled her close and stroked her back comfortingly. "We're right here," she soothed unconsciously, swaying back and forth.

She laid her cheek on Madeleine's fussy head.

It felt unnervingly normal to have been dragged out of bed with Jethro to take care of the baby.

* * *

><p>When he woke up in the morning, Gibbs chose to let Jenny continue sleeping. If she had something to do for Mossad, she would have already set an alarm to wake her up, and he wanted her to rest while she had the chance.<p>

He had been listening to Madeleine babble softly to herself on the monitor for ten minutes. She had evidently woken up, yet decided it wasn't necessary to start calling for attention yet. Gibbs smirked, and slipped out of the bedroom, walking into the nursery.

He went over and opened the curtain, letting morning sunlight into the room.

Madeleine gave a cry of surprise and he looked over. She was staring at him, her eyes wide. Sitting up the crib, she had a plush baby doll in her lap and one of the hideous troll dolls of Jenny's in her hand.

"Morning, Madeleine," he said.

She made a noise in her throat and stood up, gripping the bars of the crib. She peered at him as if deciding if she liked him being there. Then she giggled and waved at him, peeking over the rail.

Gibbs grinned. He walked over and waved back, leaning down gently to smile back at her. He reached out his hands and opened his palms.

"You want out?" he asked mildly. She looked at his hands and let go of the bars, wobbling, and extending her arms to mimic him. She fell backwards, her eyes widening. Gibbs chuckled and picked her up, checking her diaper.

"You'll get there," he said. He couldn't count how many times she had _almost_ taken steps just while he was here. He let her sit in front of him on the changing table while he grabbed a diaper and opened a drawer, searching for something to dress her in.

Jenny must have taken off her pajamas last night, because Madeleine wasn't wearing any. Perhaps the uncomfortable heat had woken her up.

"Mmm-mmm-mmm," Madeleine said, snatching the diaper from him. She picked at it, holding it out to him. She wriggled her toes and waved it at him. Gibbs frowned, picking up the box of safety pins Jenny had on the changing table. He could kill her for using cloth diapers.

Gibbs patted the changing table.

"Lay down," he said, gently making her do so. "Be still and I won't stick you," he muttered, beginning to change her. She wriggled a lot, but she wasn't a baby who hated a diaper change; his main concern was keeping her still while he tried to pin her up.

"Ma-ma," she said, pointing at his nose and looking at him intently. "Ma? Ehma?" it sounded like a question the second time.

Finishing up, Jethro shook his head a little, making a gesture like he was sleeping on his hands.

"Mama's sleeping," he said. "You get me," he said, laying out her clothing for the day. He pointed to his nose like she had. "Da-da."

"Ohhhhhh," she said, blinking. She made a face, her brow crinkling and twisted, pointing at the door. "Ma-ma."

He shushed her quietly, standing her up and gently pulling a little white t-shirt over her head.

Madeleine frowned. She closed her mouth and hummed—or it sounded like humming. Jethro smiled. He picked up the overalls he was going to put on her and then tapped his arm.

"Hold on to me," he said, taking her hand and placing it there. "Hold on, Madeleine," he instructed. He had seen Jenny give the command and knew she understood it.

She tugged on his shirt, holding tightly.

"Foot," he said, holding out one of the overall legs. She complied surprisingly well, and he did the same with the other foot, pulling the overalls up and snapping them. They were light blue and had daisies on them.

Madeleine didn't let go of him once he had finished dressing her and he raised an eyebrow, looking around. He considered taking her down the hall to make breakfast, but he did not want Jenny to wake up and panic because they weren't there.

Instead, he picked Madeleine up and strode to the middle of the floor, sitting down next to some of her toys. He let her sit right at his feet and looked around, picking up one of her new colouring books.

Madeleine's eyes lit up. She clapped her hands together.

"Ah!" she cried, pointing at the book.

"You like colouring?" he asked, picking up a new box of crayons. He flipped open the book and tore open the new box effortlessly. Madeleine cooed happily. He took her hand and helped her to colour, supervising watchfully to make sure no crayons were eaten and nothing but the page was drawn on.

Madeleine tapped her crayon on the paper.

"Buh!" she cried.

Gibbs looked at the crayon.

"Green," he said, putting his hand on the crayon. "It's green," he said again. "Mama's favorite colour," he added.

Madeleine blinked and looked up at him. She held up the crayon.

"Buh!" she said again.

"It's futile," came a soft voice from the doorway. Gibbs turned. Jenny smirked and pushed away from the doorframe, unfolding her arms as she walked forward. "She thinks everything is blue."

"She is saying "blue", then?" he asked.

Jenny shrugged. She sat down opposite him, crossing her legs Native American style.

"I think so. She only does that when she's colouring, or if I ask her what she wants to wear," Jenny explained.

"She say anything else?" Gibbs asked, interested. He leaned back, letting Madeleine do her own thing with the colouring book.

Jenny seemed to think.

"She says "Oh" when she understands something. Instead of saying 'Yes', she'll say "Oh", or she'll say "Keh"—which I think is either her form of 'okay', or she's saying the Hebrew word for _yes_. She makes plenty of sounds that _might_ be words."

Gibbs nodded. He tilted his head and looked down, watching her a minute.

"She waved at me this morning," he announced.

Jenny brightened.

"Did she?" she asked, smiling down at Madeleine. "Did you wave at Daddy?" Jenny asked, leaning forward.

It was as if the toddler suddenly discovered Jenny was in the room. She dropped her crayon and threw herself forward onto her hands and knees, crawling forward.

"Mama," she squealed, giggling when Jenny picked her up and gave her a hug.

"Good morning, honey," Jenny greeted, pressing a kiss to Madeleine's nose. "How's it feel to be a whole year old?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. Madeleine just beamed and leaned forward, kissing Jenny.

Jenny snickered and wrinkled her nose.

"Why thank you," she said warmly, placing Madeleine in her lap. "Don't you look cute this morning," she noticed, examining the overalls. "You bought these?" she asked, looking at Jethro.

Gibbs nodded curtly.

"Easy to move in," he said.

Madeleine started poking the places on her outfit Jenny had touched. Jenny gasped playfully, following Madeleine's pokes with her finger.

"Look at all the pretty daisies!" she said, touching each of them. "Madeleine, can you give Daddy a kiss for the new outfit?" Jenny pointed at Jethro and then kissed the toddler's cheek."Can you thank him?"

Madeleine, having not seen the outfit wrapped up and presented, probably didn't understand that it had been a gift. She followed Jenny's actions with amusement and then waved at Gibbs, giggling quietly.

He snorted and waved back.

"She's grateful," Jenny supplied, rolling her eyes. Madeleine scooted forward and went about playing, whilst Jenny and Gibbs sat opposite, watching her, enjoying the fragile ease of the quiet morning.

"You sleep well?" he asked her.

"Better than I have in a while," she answered honestly. She bit her lip, her cheeks flushing a little. She had his shirt on, left from when she had tossed it on to tend to Madeleine last night.

Gibbs smirked.

"Don't look so proud of yourself," she murmured, a little embarrassed. She chewed on her lip and kept half an eye on Madeleine. He shrugged a little, smirking still. She looked at him through her eyelashes, and hesitated.

"What?" he asked immediately, noticing the look on her face. He looked wary suddenly. She frowned, tapping her fingers against her knee.

"I don't know, Jethro," she sighed quietly. "I think we just complicated things a hell of a lot," she murmured, referencing last night. She couldn't figure out if sleeping together had been a bad idea.

It didn't seem like it, to be honest. She hadn't had slept with anyone _since_ Jethro, and it was easy to sleep with him; familiar and safe.

"Jen," he began a little warily. "Don't go there."

"Where?" she asked sincerely. She sighed, blowing hair off of her forehead. "This was part of the problem, Jethro; you never wanted to talk."

"You wanted to define everything," he said bitterly.

She looked at Madeleine.

She tried to find something to say, but he beat her to it.

"Before she was born, you asked me how I would feel if you saw other men," he said stiffly, reminding her of that awkward conversation.

"You wouldn't like it," she said, remembering well.

"I'd _hate_ it," he corrected. He turned slightly aggressive. "I don't want it."

She opened her mouth. She hesitated, her lips parted. He had made it clear he never wanted her to leave, and now she was wondering why she had been so blind to what he was offering. It was like he had been trying to tell her that he wouldn't say no if she tried to reconcile. At first, perhaps, he had still hated her—but something had changed after Madeleine had been born.

Jenny took a deep breath.

"We can't just start back up," she said. "I can't—I don't know what the motive is. We can't just be together because of Madeleine, it could backfire, you'd resent me," she tried to explain how she was feeling.

Gibbs reached out and stopped Madeleine from putting a crayon in her mouth.

"We didn't sleep together because of her," he said.

"I know. I mean—what if we're just doing this because it's easier, just because of her," Jenny broke off, shaking her head.

Gibbs remembered when Tali had asked him if he still loved Jenny. He hadn't known what to answer—well, he had, but he had been busy attempting not to think about it. He had never wanted to address those feelings again.

"I don't know why you left, Jen," he said with a shrug, a tone of finality to his voice. "I don't care. Just don't do it again," he said with another shrug.

She looked at him, pressing her lips together lightly, so many questions in her eyes. It seemed he was done with the conversation, but she was left uncertain. She was unsure if they were, er, 'back together', or if they were in limbo or—she was unsure what she wanted.

No; that was a lie. She wanted Jethro. She was beginning to realize that much too late.

"Madeleine," she said suddenly, reaching for her daughter. "No, Madeleine Jane," she said, grabbing her daughter's hand as the baby tried to eat a purple crayon.

Madeleine shrieked in protest and glared at Jenny, yanking away.

"No," Jenny said sternly. "No eating crayons," she said, holding up the crayon tensely. Her hand shook a little. She took it away from the toddler.

Madeleine whined at her, and stood up, reaching out.

"No, ma'am," Jenny said, picking up some other crayons. "Enough colouring for now; it's breakfast time," she said, reaching out.

Madeleine stepped back.

"Baby," gasped Jenny, freezing. She stared at Madeleine.

Madeleine shook her head. She turned, looking at Jethro, and wobbled, whining. He held out his hands suddenly, and said something under his breath. Madeleine stumbled and threw her arms out. She slowly pushed her foot forward and then took a step.

She walked straight to Jethro and grabbed his arm, losing her balance and falling into his lap.

She pouted and glared at Jenny.

"Da-da," she announced clearly.

Jenny sucked in her breath loudly, her heart leaping into her throat. She didn't know what she was supposed to react to, the word or the walking—or both. Her pulse fluttered through her veins and she leapt up.

"What did she say?" she asked, kneeling down next to Jethro. She looked up at him. "She walked to you. She ran _away_ from me!" she gasped, hitting Jethro in the arm. She laughed, barely able to breathe.

Gibbs laughed, sweeping her up and kissing her. He tickled her stomach, showing his approval.

"Smart girl," he complimented smugly.

Madeleine kicked and giggled, laughing. The outpouring of praise overwhelmed her. She looked at Jethro brightly.

"Da-da?" she tried again, testing to see if it would garner the same reaction.

Jenny leaned over and buried her face against Madeleine, pressing close to Jethro. Gibbs touched the back of her neck, massaging her. Jenny lifted her head, her eyes all shiny and bright.

"Jesus, Jenny," Gibbs groaned, noticing the signs of those the-baby-did-something-amazing-tears he remembered from the days Kelly was little.

She punched him in the shoulder, biting her lip.

"She ran to you when she got in trouble," Jenny said forlornly, trying to keep from smiling. "Jethro, that makes _me_ the mean one!" she whined, squeezing his knee.

Gibbs smirked and looked down at Madeleine. She looked between them, confused, but happy to be the center of attention.

"There wasn't any question about that, was there, M?" he asked wryly.

Only to receive _another_ punch from Jenny.

* * *

><p>It always seemed to come down to the two of them in an airport.<p>

This morning, Tel-Aviv's was furiously busy. The flight was just late enough that it wasn't deathly early in the morning, and thus traffic was booming. All incoming and outgoing passengers seemed to be in a hurry, and not many gave a second thought to the couple with the small child standing off to the side.

Madeleine clung to Jenny, staring around in wide-eyed wonder, intimidated by the noise and the hustle-and-bustle of so many people. Her arms were locked tightly around Jenny's neck, and had been since they had walked in.

They lingered outside of the boarding walkway, biding their time until his flight was up.

Gibbs reached out to cup Madeleine's face in his hands, leaning in close and kissing her on the forehead, and then on the crown of her head. She giggled bashfully and snuggled closer to Jenny, blinking at him with long, baby-soft eyelashes.

"Here," Jenny murmured, reaching up and gently prying Madeleine's hands loose. The toddler whimpered uncertainly, but quieted when Gibbs took her and began to pat her back soothingly. He hugged her and rested his chin lightly on her shoulder, looking at Jenny' over her back.

"Christmas," he said, nodding his head again. He paused a moment. "A couple days, I swear," he said. "I'll space it out more," he added. "I want to see her more often."

"Any time you want to, Jethro," she said seriously, crossing her arms across her chest. She chewed on her lip, swallowing. "I'm sorry I can't come stateside," she muttered.

He shook his head, blowing her off.

"It's fine," he said quietly. Madeleine struggled, annoyed with being hugged so tightly for no apparent reason. Gibbs loosened his grip and let her sit up in his arms, smiling at her. He stroked her hair.

She smiled, pleased with the attention, and began looking around again, both of her hands fisting tightly into his shirt. The call came for his flight a few moments later, and Jenny uncrossed her arms, reaching out.

"Come here, sweetheart," she coaxed. Madeleine gladly reached out for Jenny, transferring into her arms. "Say bye-bye to Daddy," Jenny said earnestly, resting her palm on Madeleine's stomach. "Say 'Bye, Da-da,'."

Madeleine leaned over and touched Gibbs' face. He took her hand and smiled, leaning in to kiss her cheek again.

"Bye-bye, Madeleine," he said gruffly, touching her nose with his index finger. "I'll miss you," he said, raising his eyebrows.

"Da-da?" she asked, tilting her head. He grinned and leaned in, pressing his cheek against the crown of her head.

"I love you," he muttered, kissing her swiftly again. He lifted his head, touched Jenny's cheek, and kissed her quickly on the mouth, squeezing her shoulder.

"Jethro," she said intently, rubbing Madeleine's back. "I meant to ask—has there been any suspicious chatter over American intelligence channels, anything from al-Qaeda?" she asked.

He shook his head slightly, brow furrowing.

"I can keep an eye out," he said. "Why?" he asked sharply.

She shook her head, and bit her lip.

"Nothing," she sighed quietly. "It has just been…silent, lately. Eerily silent." She sounded unnerved, and uncertain. He gave her a reassuring look and let his hand slide off of her shoulder, glancing over at the people boarding his flight.

"Next time, Jen," he said, turning to leave. He smiled and waved at Madeleine, burning her curiously smiling little face into his memory before he turned around. Jenny coaxed her into waving at him, her hand moving with Madeleine's small one.

"Da-da?" he heard Madeleine say, her voice rising in pitch near the end.

"He has to go home, _ahuva_," he heard Jenny say. "He'll be back to see you."

Her voice faded away, and he refused to look back.

* * *

><p><em>Reviews are appreciated!<em>

-Alexandra


	6. Shaysh

_A/N: Happy St. Patrick's Day!_ _I pray everyone's wearing green-because I'm a pincher. Yet another week we've passed without NCIS. They've taken too many hiatuses this season, the lazy asses. Ah, well. Here's more Madeleine. _

* * *

><p><em><strong>Six<strong>_

**September 2001**

"Are you sure you are feeling well, Jenny?" Tali David gave her friend and colleague a worried look, her dark brow furrowing.

The redhead nodded.

"It's only a headache," she said, waving her hand as if it were immaterial.

It _was_ only a headache, at least physically. In other realms of feeling, Jenny had a distinctly bad churning in her chest, and she couldn't shake the eerie notion that something was very, very wrong. It was a feeling that had been hanging over the whole of the Mossad itself for a week now, as all chatter on enemy channels had utterly and completely ceased.

An occurrence like that never boded well for the Israelis, but it was Jenny who felt something sinister in her gut.

"If you are sure," responded Tali skeptically. She eyed Jenny suspiciously for a moment longer, and returned to the books in front of her. "Have you spoken to Gibbs recently?"

Jenny shook her head. She looked down to check on Madeleine, who was playing contently on the floor with some blocks.

Tali frowned sympathetically. She looked up from her schoolbooks again and followed Jenny's eyes to Madeleine.

"You have not spoken to your _Aba_, my dear?" she asked nicely, widening her eyes.

"Dada," Madeleine said obediently. She had taken to repeating Jethro's name whenever she heard Tali say the Hebrew word.

Tali giggled.

"At least she has not forgotten him," she said with a small smile.

Jenny turned and leaned forward on her knees, stretching her arms out to the toddler. Madeleine swiveled to look at her and, when she noticed Jenny reaching out, stood up steadily and toddled over, grabbing onto Jenny's knee and looking up at her with a smile.

Madeleine picked up the dangling chain around her neck and put one of two dog tags in her mouth, gnawing happily on the metal. Gently, Jenny removed it, shaking her head at the danger and softly reprimanding her daughter.

She had found Jethro's dog tags draped over the side of the crib when she had returned from the airport. She figured he must have left them as a symbol to her and the baby. He'd left a button up shirt in the crib, too.

Madeleine tried to take the dog tag back.

"Are you hungry, Madeleine?" Jenny asked, tilting her head. It was getting close enough to dinner time.

Madeleine grinned and laid her cheek on Jenny's leg.

Jenny smiled, and leaned back a little, opening her mouth to ask Tali if she was hungry—but she was interrupted.

At once, the two cell phones in the room began ringing shrilly, the lights dimmed and switched to emergency lighting, and a low buzzing noise began in the corridor.

Immediately, Tali slammed her book closed and leapt up, a look of complete seriousness crossing her face.

"Get up," she ordered sharply, in a tone Jenny had never heard her take before. "Get up _now_, Shepard," she snapped, as Ziva entered the room swiftly.

"Mossad is initiating Protocol," she announced coolly, giving Tali a pointed look.

Tali nodded curtly.

Jenny stood, snatching Madeleine up instantly. She reached for her ringing cell phone, opening it slowly.

Ziva took it from her, silencing it.

"That was Jethro," Jenny growled, her jaw line hardening. "Return my phone, Ziva."

"Absolutely not," Ziva answered calmly and matter-of-factly. She spoke rapidly to Tali in a language that sounded like Hebrew—but Jenny barely understood it. Then, she turned to the redhead and jerked her head towards the door. "Come with me."

Madeleine started to whimper. She reached up and covered her ears; the buzzing became louder as they entered the hallway. Jenny pressed the toddler's head into her shoulder and stroked her hair soothingly.

"What is this, Ziva?" Jenny asked. "'Protocol'?" she repeated.

Ziva nodded, leading Jenny by a stride, refusing to answer.

"I've never heard of it," Jenny remarked angrily.

"You are not privy to the details. You never will be," Ziva answered. "I cannot answer any of your questions."

Jenny stared at her partner's back, a feeling of terror rising in her. She swallowed, keeping close behind Ziva. Ziva opened the door to Jenny's suite and ushered her in, beginning to close the door. Using one hand to support Madeleine, Jenny flung out her arm and barred Ziva from leaving.

"What's going on?" she demanded.

"I have already told you," Ziva answered bluntly. "I _cannot_ answer."

"Are you saying you do not trust me?" Jenny asked lividly, still cradling Madeleine's head.

"I am telling you that Mossad has initiated a code that is concerned with one of the very highest threat levels, and as a foreign agent you are to be confined to your room. I will have your cell phone, and your electronics are being disabled as we speak."

Jenny's mouth opened, her face going pale. Did they think she was a traitor? What had happened—had something gone horribly wrong in the city?

Madeleine began to sob.

Ziva turned.

"Ziva!" cried Jenny desperately, holding the door firmly. Her eyes pled with her friend, she set her jaw firmly, searching for any indication in the Israeli's eyes.

Ziva stared back coldly for a moment and then stepped very close, as if she were prying Jenny's hand off of the door.

"All I can tell you is that the United States is under attack. We do not know by whom and we do not know how big. Nothing is clear. Do not make this difficult," she pushed Jenny's hand back gently and took the door handle. "Tali or myself will be in touch as soon as Protocol is lifted."

Before Jenny could react from the shock or say anything else, Ziva had shut the door. The buzzing dimmed again.

The lights were all out in Jenny's room. The computers were dark.

Jenny took a deep, shuddering breath. She stumbled to the television, attempting to turn it on—there was no signal. Madeleine still cried in her ear, bothered by the noise and the stress Jenny was giving off.

Uncertain and trying to fight off panic, Jenny sat down on the couch, wrapping her arms around her daughter tightly. She turned her lips into the toddler's hair and kissed her, singing softly to quiet her down.

…_the United States is under attack…_

Jenny turned tumultuous eyes to the nearest clock. It was quarter 'til five o'clock in Tel Aviv.

In the United States, the clocks would read 8:45 a.m.

* * *

><p>Halfway across the world, mass hysteria was breaking lose in a nation under fire as rapidly changing information flooded the media and the airways. There was no clear understanding yet of what had occurred in New York City; intelligence agencies were on full alert; all flights were being landed immediately, and silence was nowhere to be found.<p>

Every television was on—each on a different channel, each showing the same sight. Phones were ringing, fax lines were screaming, and agents and military personnel were running from point A to point B, desperately searching for order, answers, and control.

"The FBI says there was a drill scheduled—"

"It's not a fucking _drill_—one accident is a drill, two Boeings in the World Trade Center is a goddamn act of war!"

"DiNozzo, turn that down," ordered Gibbs, storming around the corner, gun in hand.

Swallowing hard, his face grey and sick, Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo scrambled to reduce the volume on his television, turning away from the grim journalist and the fiery scene behind her.

"You find out anything, Boss?" Tony asked hoarsely.

"No," Gibbs growled, picking up his phone again. He dialed a number, waiting. "No one knows a goddamn thing," he barked, looking around at the panic.

Upon getting no answer yet again, he slammed his phone into the receiver.

"Son of a bitch," he growled, looking at the television narrowly. He had been trying to reach Jenny since the first plane hit, and he was getting nothing—not even a ring. It seemed as if lines at Mossad were completely closed as well.

"What do we do?" DiNozzo asked uncertainly.

Gibbs didn't answer. He hit his fist on the desk and looked around. No one knew what to do. Agents were staring at televisions, calling family, stunned into silence or yelling, trying to find answers. It was chaos.

Until something brought silence.

A shrill, piercing alarm like a nuclear warning rose up in the bullpen, successfully quieting all chatter and noise. Wide-eyes looked around; the Navy Yard turned its eyes to windows. Words began flashing on television screens.

A door slammed; Gibbs turned in that direction, reaching for his phone again—but he turned around and was nose to nose suddenly with a red-eyed, shaking Abby Sciuto.

"Gibbs," she said shakily, wringing her hands. "Gibbs, there are going to be _thousands_ dead in New York," she sobbed, shaking her head. "What's going on, Gibbs? Gibbs, the buildings are going to fall-"

Gibbs put his finger to her lips to quiet her. He reached out to rub her shoulder and she just sort of collapsed against him.

"Boss," Tony said, in a tone of disbelief.

Gibbs twisted to look. He narrowed his eyes at the television screen.

Tony's mouth moved soundlessly.

"Shit," someone said, sounding just as shocked as Tony looked. "Holy _shit_—bastards hit the Pentagon."

Gibbs felt as if he'd been sucker-punched in the gut.

This was worse than the Khobar Towers—hell, it was worse than the bombing in in '93 and it was worse than the USS Cole. It was worse than all of them combined.

The alarms seemed to get louder and louder.

"Abby," Gibbs said gruffly. He pulled her aside and sat her down in his chair, taking her shoulders gently. "Abby," he said again. He ran his hand over her hair.

"Why hasn't anyone _stopped_ them?" she asked desperately, her shoulders still shaking.

"I don't know," he answered gruffly. "No one knows what's going on, Abs."

"Gibbs," yelled Tony over the alarms. "Gibbs, we're in a state of Emergency," he shouted.

"Ya think?" barked Gibbs, giving the younger agent a look.

Tony pointed to the television.

Gibbs squinted, but he couldn't see. He reached past Abby for the phone, dialing for Jenny again.

He needed to hear her voice.

He needed her to know he was alive.

"It's Al-Qaeda, Boss," Tony said grimly.

"Bin Laden," Gibbs answered violently, nodding his head. He swore viciously as he received no answer again and looked up at MTAC.

In a disconnected moment, Gibbs thought of Mike Franks. He had thrown in the towel over the agency's refusal to take Bin Laden seriously. He had seen this coming.

And no one had listened.

* * *

><p>"Jethro," Jenny said weakly, sinking down onto the couch when he answered.<p>

She was so relieved to finally get in touch with him that she didn't care how submissive she sounded. There had been days and days of chaos and shock, and connecting with him for a moment seemed surreal and safe.

He didn't say anything for a minute.

"Jen," he greeted finally. "You forget how to use a phone?"

She swallowed hard, curling her legs under her and leaning against the couch's armrest.

"I was forbidden," she said, somewhat shortly. "Foreign operatives were very nearly put on house arrest. I had no idea the magnitude of the attack—" she broke off, her voice breaking. "What's the toll at now?"

"It's over two thousand," was all Jethro said, his voice gruff. "Still climbing. People are missing. Everyone wants blood," he said.

"What's going through your head?" Jenny asked softly.

"Re-enlisting," he growled darkly, his tone swelling with anger; vengeance.

Her heart leapt into her throat and she felt as if she couldn't breathe.

"_No_," she forced out sharply. "You can't be serious."

The thought made her want to resign from her post in Israel and return to the states to force him to remain in the domestic safety of NCIS. She had no idea what the American Presidency would retaliate with, but she knew it would be big, and bloody, and it wouldn't be safe.

"I'm not going to re-enlist, Jen," he placated. It sounded as if he were rolling his eyes. "Had to stop my Probie from signin' up," he muttered.

"How many kids _have_?" Jenny murmured.

Gibbs grunted softly. He didn't answer, but she didn't need him too. Her question had been rhetorical. Jethro was by no means the only man who would be incited to a rage that would compel him to fight. The American military would have no problem finding recruits after this—hell, recruiters themselves probably had their quotas not only met but exponentially surpassed in the murky days following the September eleventh terrorist attacks.

"Is Madeleine awake?" Jethro asked.

"No," Jenny answered apologetically. "I put her down about an hour ago. She's barely had any sleep since we've been in lockdown. The whole ordeal scared her," Jenny explained unhappily.

"Good thing she was with you," Jethro said darkly.

Jenny laughed sarcastically.

"I spend so much time worrying about the threats in Israel," she said ironically, "and al-Qaeda attacks _you_."

"Us," Jethro corrected gruffly. "Our home. Israel, too."

"Israel," murmured Jenny, leaning her head back and staring up at the ceiling. "Things are going to get very bad for Palestine," she whispered. "I heard Tali crying over the things that might happen."

"She was crying?" asked Jethro, sounding annoyed. "Who made her cry?" he asked.

Jenny smiled wryly.

"I don't know. The world. Her father. She's forbidden from volunteering in the refugee camps," the redhead answered.

Jethro grumbled under his breath.

"You have a soft spot for her, Jethro," Jenny observed, musing. "Any particular reason?"

He made a noise as if she were out of her mind.

"She's just a kid," he said.

"She's more of a woman than most Americans of drinking age," Jenny answered seriously.

Jethro paused.

"She's Kelly's age," he said abruptly. "Kelly would be her age."

"Ah," Jenny said softly, nodding her head. She bit her lip, brushing her hair back off of her face.

The two sat in silence, on opposite sides of the world, phones held to their ears.

"How's her walking going?" Jethro asked.

"It's bothersome," Jenny answered fondly. "She's quite good at it now; it's worse than the crawling."

Jethro laughed in a reserved way.

"She learn any new words?"

"She says 'bahhk' when Tali makes baklava, so it's a start."

"Hmpf. Call me when she gets the hang of 'No'," Jethro snorted.

"Is that something I should be worried about?" Jenny lifted an eyebrow.

He made a non-committal noise. Kelly had been ruthless with her "No!"s, but perhaps Madeleine would be different.

Though with Jenny as a mother, he highly doubted it.

"What is the flight situation going to be like in the States?" Jenny asked, sobering somewhat.

"Bad," Jethro answered grimly. "Bad," he said again, driving the point home.

"You think you can still come for Christmas?"

"Yeah," he said, changing tune. "Yeah, Jen, it won't be _that_ bad," he corrected. She could hear him shaking his head. "I'm putting DiNozzo in charge for the five days I'm gone over Christmas."

"Five?" she clarified.

"Five will finish the year's vacation," he answered gruffly. "I'll work out next year."

"Save some for her birthday," Jenny murmured.

"I don't want to think about her birthday," he muttered moodily. "I can't believe she's one."

"I know," Jenny said quietly, swallowing hard.

She lifted her head and looked towards the nursery door. She smiled softly, glancing down at her lap.

"She says 'Dada' occasionally," Jenny told him. "I try to keep the memory fresh. When I play her tape, or give her one of your toys."

"Good," Jethro grunted. He nodded his head affirmatively, even though she couldn't see. "I miss you guys," he said abruptly.

Jenny nodded. She pulled the receiver away from her mouth for a minute.

"I'm glad you're safe, Jethro," she said. "Stay that way, will you?"

"I'm safe," he said.

She snorted, remembering their reckless exploits all over Europe; they way the both of them had risked life without a second thought in every situation—all the time.

"You make me a single mother, Jethro, and I'll never let you rest in peace."

He snorted on the other end of the line. She leaned forward, looking up as Ziva entered her room.

"Duty calls," she said.

"Tell her I love her," he said automatically—the same thing he said each and every time before they hung up.

And she answered with the same thing she always said:

"She loves you, too."

* * *

><p>"Gibbs is in a bad mood again," Abby Sciuto announced matter-of-factly, tilting her head at the latest piece of biological artwork she had displayed in her homey lab. "You like?"<p>

"Love it," Tony DiNozzo answered seriously. "Gibbs is always in a bad mood."

"Tony, you confuse 'bad mood' with 'tough love'," Abby said brightly, turning to him. "He is in a bad mood. He was in a good mood in August when he came back from his latest super secret trip, and then he started to get growly, and since," Abby paused, sighing quietly. "Since September Eleventh he's been bear-like. Really scary bad mood."

"We've all been on edge since the attacks, Abs," DiNozzo answered solemnly, shrugging a little.

He turned towards her.

"I know," she said, folding her arms across her chest. She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Do you think Gibbs would be cheered up by a Halloween Party?" she asked happily.

DiNozzo looked terrified.

"No!" he said firmly.

"Costume Halloween Party?"

"Abs, he'd kill you."

"No he wouldn't."

"Abs, he'd kill _me_."

"Hmmm," Abby said, seeming to agree. "I think I can make him a little happier. I can make Halloween pretty festive! And not make him too Scrooge-ish."

"Scrooge is Christmas. And why are you always so worried about Gibbs, anyway? He's a big boy."

"I think he needs someone to be worried about him," Abby answered matter-of-factly. "You know, with all his lack of wife and family."

"Maybe he's just a jack ass," Tony offered bluntly.

Abby quirked up one side of her mouth in a smirk. She remained silent and lifted her eyebrows.

Very Special Agent DiNozzo turned pale.

"He's standing right behind me, isn't he?"

Abby nodded, just as Gibbs' palm collided with the back of Tony's head. He yelped.

"You want me to be a jack ass, DiNozzo?" he threatened coldly.

"No boss. I prefer the bad mood."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes and turned to Abby. Abby ginned.

"What've you got, Abs?" he asked.

She lifted a brow again, sure she saw a bit of a smile on Gibbs' face.

* * *

><p>"I do not understand," Tali David said slowly, tilting her head, her eyes wide, and her lips pursed in concentration. "Why are you making her wear such a funny outfit?"<p>

Jenny smirked and lifted her eyes from her daughter, trying to think of another way to explain to Tali the tradition.

"It's an American holiday," she said again.

"But you are not in America. This is very unnecessary," Tali reminded Jenny.

"It's a part of my culture, Tali," Jenny said gently. "She was too little last year."

"She will not remember this year, either," Tali pointed out.

"No," Jenny agreed, reaching forward and adding a smidgen of black paint to Madeleine's cute little nose. The toddler wrinkled it and cooed, reaching out to try and take the paintbrush in Jenny's hand. "But I will, and Jethro will."

Tali tilted her head from side to side, giggling softly.

"Madeleine, you are a kitten then? You are a baby kitten?" she asked sweetly, reaching out to gently tickle the toddler's stomach.

Madeleine giggled and squirmed, kicking her feet towards Tali happily.

"She's a tiger," Jenny corrected, placing the finishing touch, a small, baby-sized pair of orange-and-black fuzzy tiger ears on Madeleine's head. Jenny held up her hand in a claw-like motion and Madeleine mimicked her perfectly.

"Rawr," hissed Jenny playfully.

"Ra! Ra! Ra!" replied Madeleine, standing up and walking to Tali. She began to claw Tali's hair innocently, giggling when the teenager swept her up for a kiss and a dance around the room.

Jenny stood up from her chair and placed her paintbrushes in a cup, admiring the simple, neat job she had done of making Madeleine's Tiger nose and whiskers. With any luck, it would stay decent enough for a few good pictures to send to Jethro.

"You are a very cute baby tiger," Tali said warmly. She pranced about the kitchen with the toddler, admiring her tiger-striped dress and black Mary-Jane sandals. "If only your _Ima_ could make me understand the meaning of Halloween…"

Jenny rolled her eyes, patronizing.

"It isn't very meaningful, it's just fun," she said. "It originates from a Christian day-of-the-dead, but stateside it's a night of costumed fun and candy."

"Jenny, you said you did not like nonsense holidays," Tali reminded the redhead.

Jenny nodded slowly, reaching out for Madeleine.

"I didn't much like them," she said. "It's different now that I've got her."

"How so?"

"I don't want her to miss out," Jenny murmured, smiling at her daughter. Madeleine cooed her mother's name contentedly and reached up to play with Jenny's hair with both of her small hands, two new teeth visible as she smiled and babbled to herself. "It's difficult since she doesn't live in America, but she won't be here forever."

Tali looked up, her eyes bright. She picked up the camera from the table thoughtfully.

"You know you will move back to your home?" she asked curiously.

Jenny shrugged. She looked at Madeleine again, taking her small, soft hand.

"I won't raise her here," she said softly, tilting her head. She leaned forward and kissed the toddler's forehead, lingering thoughtfully. For a brief moment, she thought about the future—and she thought about Jethro—and then the click-and-flash of the camera brought her back, and she fired a baleful look at a laughing Israeli teenager and remembered that this was her unstable life.

* * *

><p>Gibbs took a slow, much-needed sip of scalding hot coffee and leaned back in Jenny's kitchen, ignoring the burning sensation in his throat and tongue and releasing a pent-up breath gradually.<p>

He cracked his neck, arched his back, and blinked, trying to wake up. It seemed his job had gotten harder since he had started taking periodic breaks to visit Jenny; things piled up, his probie messed things up, and Gibbs missed things.

On top of that, there was the added stress of the constant dull ache he felt over Jenny and Madeleine; he missed them, he worried about them. The pictures he received and the things he sent made it worse most of the time—it was just a reminder that he wasn't there, a constant notice that Madeleine didn't really know who he was.

Last week, Jenny had called to say Madeleine had started saying "ouch". She had gotten two more vaccinations and couple new teeth. She had started to run, and was very playful. She loved being outside, and she was cranky when she didn't get some time in the courtyard.

She was growing up, but in a surreal, weird way, Gibbs felt like she was still the tiny, helpless infant he had watched while Jenny went on her mission.

And while he was alone, isolated, without them, here in Washington DC, they felt like a memory and a dream—it felt like something he wished for rather than had.

He was struggling, hurting. Feeling like he didn't know Madeleine enough, and fighting the notion that he might be distancing himself to avoid the pain that had come from losing Kelly.

Gibbs looked over the latest batch of pictures spread before him. It seemed a regular past time for him now, sitting either here, or in his basement—or in autopsy, if he was (on a rare occasion) sharing with Ducky. He looked at pictures. Once a week, if he was lucky, he spoke to Jenny, or heard Madeleine's voice.

He picked up the picture he had been fixated on.

_Madeleine Jane Gibbs, first real Halloween—2001_ was scrawled neatly on the back.

On the front was a picture of Madeleine standing near Jenny's knees, one of her hands covering her mouth as she smiled gleefully through her fingers. Her eyes were bright and green and happy, and she was dolled up in tiger ears and tiger dress; Jenny had painted tiger whiskers on her nose.

Madeleine looked cute, as usual, but his favorite part was Jenny. It was rare that she was included in the pictures, and in this one, she sat behind Madeleine, leaning forward, her hands folded on her knees. It was just the way she was looking at Madeleine that got to him.

Jenny looked_ happy_. She was just staring down at the toddler calmly, her lips pursed, a very clear picture of her affection for the child written all over her eyes and etched in her small smile.

He relished it. He wanted to see that look in person. He had missed feeling like that, and he had missed seeing that feeling of unconditional love reflected in Shannon's eyes—now he could see it in Jenny's. It was different, but it was the same. The women were different, the little girls different, and he had changed—but the way they loved their kids was the same.

"More pictures this morning, _Senor_ Gibbs?"

Noemi entered the room with her usual watering can, beaming warmly. She peered hesitantly at the table.

Gibbs leaned forward.

"Halloween," he said, a tinge of pride in his voice. "She was a tiger," he said, holding up the picture he had been looking at.

"Oh, _Chiquita_," Noemi said softly, smiling. "She grows much!" the Latina woman mused, handing the picture back to Gibbs. "She has _Senora's _eyes."

Gibbs nodded, laying the picture in front of him. He studied it again, his eyes glued to the toddler.

"You miss them very much, Senor?" asked Noemi sympathetically.

"Yeah," he answered after a moment, with a short shrug.

"How long to when you see them again?"

He cleared his throat, thinking on the dates briefly.

"'Bout a month or so," he answered. "Christmas."

"Ah," said Noemi. "You remind me. I make _Chiquita _a Christmas gift."

Gibbs smirked, nodding.

"I'll remind you," he agreed.

Noemi beamed again and bustled about her work, letting him be. She usually had coffee for him on the three mornings he came buy to check the house and the mail, and she knew he liked his time alone.

He checked his phone, noted the time and stood up, gathering up the Halloween photos into heir envelope and tucking them under his arm. His favorite—the one he'd been admiring—he hesitated with.

Then, he folded it gently and slipped it into his jacked pocket, pressing his hand over it briefly.

They felt inexplicably closer that way.

* * *

><p>Haswari handed the redhead standing next to him a second handgun, watching her load it, unload it, check it, and have it back in her hand and aimed. He nodded with silent approval, and tapped the barrel of his own against his head.<p>

"You know weapons," he remarked approvingly.

"Yes," she agreed, straightening up and laying aside the gun. The exercise had finished—she had been responsible for accustoming a Mossad assault team to the nuances of NCIS operations—it was possible that Haswari's squad would run into the Cairo NCIS squad she was connected to, and they needed to be able to work flawlessly together.

"The NCIS way of clearing a room is odd," he said coolly.

"Not odd," Jenny answered. "It's fast; the motions are jerky rather than slow—there are subtle differences, but you'll be able to work if you run into a problem," she said tensely.

She rubbed her forehead, glad they were finally done. These past few days she had been running on caffeine; she couldn't remember the last time she had slept, Madeleine had been in a temper all week, and the weight of her duties as liaison was heavy on her shoulders. Work had been killing her this week, and in the midst of work, after work, and before work, she had Madeleine and Motherhood, and lately that had been killing her too.

"We finished here?" she asked abruptly.

"You are always so eager to escape from me, Shepard," Haswari mused, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips. He arched a lion-like eyebrow and turned his dark eyes on her.

"You don't like me, Ari," she answered bluntly, shrugging. She sighed, rubbing her forehead roughly again. "Madeleine has been with your sister all day. I must see to her," she said tiredly.

"Ah, the little one," said Ari silkily. "Go to her," he urged, gathering up the rest of their materials.

Jenny smiled warily and turned, leaving the field they had been using and making her way through arches and up stairs back into the building and finally down the hall to her suite.

She groaned hoarsely, able to hear Madeleine crying from outside the door. God, it was as if she couldn't get a break.

"Tali," she called, opening the door and bracing herself for an upset child.

Tali came around the corner after a moment, looking stressed.

"She is just unhappy, Jenny," the teenager said, upset. "I did not let her play with the things you said were off limits, and she became irritated," Tali stopped, blinking rapidly. "I cannot calm her, she has been calling for you."

"Oh," Jenny sighed, crossing the room in strides and reaching out for Madeleine. "_Ahuva_, _ahuva_," she cooed holding the toddler close and stroking her back. She murmured in Madeleine's ear, shushing her soothingly.

"_Toda_, Tali," Jenny said, using Hebrew. She continued in Tali's language: "I have her now, go. I know you need to study."

Tali smiled, warm and grateful.

"I do not mind watching her, Jenny," she answered in Hebrew. She pressed a kiss to Madeleine's head and whispered a goodbye, grabbing her school bag and slipping out.

Madeleine, calmed considerably by Jenny's presence, sniffled and whined quietly, fussing even though her thumb was in her mouth. Her face was red, her eyes were red, and she looked as if she'd been crying her heart out for days.

"You missed me, Madeleine?" Jenny asked gently, swaying a little. She clicked her tongue, still trying to soothe and comfort. "It's okay, honey, you've got me now."

Madeleine eyed Jenny uncertainly, tears falling periodically from her eyes. She wrinkled her forehead and started to sob, struggling. She twisted, trying to get away. Jenny complied and allowed Madeleine to walk around, watching as the toddler just took a few steps, cried, and repeated the process.

"What is it, Madeleine?" Jenny asked anxiously.

Madeleine toddled into the nursery and sat down, pointing at the crib. She cried lazily, as if she were just in the _habit_ of crying. Jenny peeked in the crib; it was full of electronics and papers—Jenny's work things.

Tali must have put them in there when Madeleine tried to get into them.

"Crying won't change the rules, babe," Jenny informed her daughter, crouching down to pick her up. "Come on, a bath will settle you and Mommy down," she tried.

Madeleine started to scream, attempting to get to the crib.

"Madeleine," sighed Jenny hoarsely, almost on the verge of tears. "_Madeleine_," she snapped shortly, her voice rising.

Madeleine quieted slightly, her eyes widening.

"I don't like the whining, Madeleine," Jenny said sternly. "Calm down," she ordered, her voice as soft as possible with authority still in it.

"Ehma," cried Madeleine angrily, her brow furrowing. "Ehma!" she screamed, pointing to the crib. Jenny shook her head. She started to leave the room when her phone went off—from God knows where. She swiveled around, searching for the irritating noise.

When she finally realized it was in the crib with the other things, Madeleine was screaming in her ear and her level of irritation had reached _boiling point_.

"Mossad," she barked venomously into the receiver, holding it slightly away from her ear. She hoped to God whoever it was heard the baby crying and decided to leave her alone.

"You okay, Jen?"

She almost fell to the floor in relief when she heard Jethro's voice.

"Jethro," she said in a rush, her eyes widening.

"Everything okay?" he asked urgently.

"Yeah, yeah," she answered, annoyed. "Just a bad day—_Madeleine_," she hissed. She almost swore, but she looked at Madeleine's watery green eyes and refrained, instead reminding herself that she needed to busy herself deciphering what was bothering her daughter.

Desperate to stop her crying, Jenny asked Jethro again to hold on. She knew he would wait patiently. Jenny grabbed a stuffed animal, a pacifier, a rattle, and then dashed to the miniature refrigerator for a bottle.

She all but collapsed in the window seat and situated herself, coaxing Madeleine to take one of the objects. Unhappily, Madeleine went for the food, and halfheartedly contented herself with the milk.

Letting out a shaky breath, Jenny spoke to Jethro.

"Okay," she said slowly. "She's calmed down a little."

"What's wrong?" he asked hesitantly, concerned.

"I—" Jenny paused, her voice shaking a little. "She's just frustrated. She wants to explore things and play with everything and I can't let her, so she cries. And I haven't been around the past week, I'm trying to wean her out of her clinginess a little and it's just—it's been a bad week," she said in a rush, leaning back.

Madeleine sat in her lap, calming even more as she drank her bottle.

Jenny dropped her head back against the wall, almost relishing the throb it caused. She took a few breaths, waiting for Jethro to say something. It took him a little longer, probably because his usual 'How's it been?' had been answered by the chaos he'd heard upon answering the phone.

"Things go to hell when they start walking," he said.

Jenny snorted.

"That's the truth," she agreed, one eye on her toddler. "I want her to be independent, but she can't at this point. She has no concept of what's dangerous—she picked up scissors the other day and started—" Jenny stopped, and shuddered. "I think I'm going crazy," she said hoarsely.

Jethro snickered.

"You weren't crazy before?"

"Hilarious, Jethro," she answered, deadpan. Madeleine set aside the bottle and looked at Jenny, still looking fairly upset. She looked around her forlornly and then whined quietly, her face crumpling.

"Madeleine," Jenny said softly, her voice gently and coaxing. "Madeleine, do you want to talk to DaDa?"

Madeleine looked at Jenny with interest, finding the world familiar.

"DaDa?" she repeated uncertainly.

Jenny reached forward and pulled Madeleine closer, setting Jethro on speaker.

"DaDa, Madeleine. Say 'hi' to DaDa," Jenny said.

"Hi, Maddie," Jethro said, his voice deep and a little distorted over the speaker. "You givin' your mom a hard time?"

"DaDa?" asked Madeleine, in her same uncertain tone. She leaned closer and looked at the phone in Jenny's hand. "Da da da da da da da," she babbled.

Jethro laughed.

"I hear you, Madeleine," he said gruffly.

Jenny smiled. Madeleine reached for the phone and tried to take it roughly.

"Careful, baby," Jenny warned, vey slowly letting Madeleine hold the phone. "Be nice. Be careful. Can you say 'hi'?" she asked again.

Madeleine shook her head. She giggled.

"No," she said sweetly. "No shome," she drawled.

"'Shome'?" repeated Jethro, surprised by her cute, friendly refusal and the new word. He wasn't sure he had heard correctly.

"Shalom" Jenny translated. "She's just getting the hang of it."

Jenny reached to take the phone back gently.

"Let Mama talk to Daddy, Madeleine," Jenny said.

"DaDa," repeated Madeleine, holding onto the phone insistently. "DaDa," she cooed again, not aware of what she was saying or who she was addressing.

"I'm here, Maddie," Jethro said. "I got the pictures you sent me," he added. "Hung up by my boat."

Madeleine cocked her head like an interested puppy at Jethro's voice. She giggled and tossed the phone to Jenny, turning suddenly to her stuffed animal as if totally distracted. She plucked her pacifier up and popped it in her mouth, mumbling through it to herself.

Jenny grinned, beyond relieved at the quiet, suddenly happy baby, and switched the phone off speaker, holding it closer to her ear.

"You perked her right up," she said, and then let out a heavy breath, her shoulders slumping. "I just want her to go to sleep," she confessed in a soft, someone ashamed voice. "I feel so incompetent when she cries like that, and I can't fix it."

"You're not incompetent," Jethro said promptly.

"Hmpf," Jenny snorted skeptically, pulling a knee up to her chest on the window seat. "I am so tired." She yawned, trying to relax; to loosen up.

"Want me to call back?"

"No," she murmured quickly. "No. I'm glad you called. You haven't talked to her in weeks," she lamented apologetically.

"Kept missing her," said Jethro neutrally. "You too. She get over her ear infection?"

"Oh, yeah," Jenny answered breezily. "She was calm through it all. It was relatively painless."

"You like her new pediatrician?"

"Much better than the last," Jenny answered. "She likes him, too. He's wonderful with her."

Jethro made a non-committal, grunting noise. Jenny snickered.

"He's years younger than me, Jethro," she admonished. "You have nothing to worry about."

He then made a noise as if he hadn't been worrying.

"How are things there?" she asked softly.

"Same old," he answered. She could practically hear him shrug. "Cases have slowed down. Be easy for me to get there for Christmas."

Jenny nodded, biting her lip. She closed her eyes, tilting her head back again, sliding her leg protectively around Madeleine so she wouldn't tumble or escape off the window seat.

"Good," she said quietly. "I need a break," she admitted under her breath. "I want to see you."

He stayed quiet.

"I miss you, Jen," he said after a moment, his words rough.

She opened her eyes, biting her lip.

"I miss you too, Jethro," she said sincerely. She reached up and pushed her hair back, hugging herself across the shoulders. "I wish it wasn't like this."

"Jenny," he warned sharply.

She bit her lip.

He hated her talking about the way things were. He hated to discuss anything that had to do with her decisions and the reasons why he never got to see his daughter. And she didn't know why she always brought it up when she knew how much it pissed him off.

"She sighed heavily, reaching out to stroke Madeleine's ever-growing soft hair.

"Right," she hissed. "Madeleine is excited for Christmas," she said.

He snorted.

"Good," he said, aware it was just talk. "I'm going to spoil her."

"Good," Jenny said, smiling fondly.

"It about bed time there?"

"Mmm-hmm," Jenny agreed. "Not quite. We're going to take a bath. She needs some down time with me. And I'll take her to the park tomorrow."

He nodded, then spoke.

"I'll see you in a few weeks, Jen," he said. They always kept their conversations short, and informative. They were like friendly check-ups; always bordering on the verge of emotional and deep—but ever reaching that level.

"The twenty-third, right?"

"Yeah."

Jenny nodded. She sat forward.

"Madeleine," she drew the baby's attention. "Say bye-bye to DaDa," she coaxed crisply.

The phone went back on speaker.

"Bye, Maddie," Jethro said gruffly. "Bye, sweetheart. I'll see you soon."

Madeleine sucked on her pacifier, eyeing Jenny's hand and Jenny's phone curiously. She pulled her pacifier out and touched the phone, making a _beep_ with the buttons. She giggled.

"DaDa," she said matter-of-factly, giggling again and replacing her pacifier. She went back to playing. Jenny laughed, amused, and held the phone back to her ear.

"She is unimpressed," Jenny said.

"Tell her I love her," Jethro said, following their formula.

"She loves you," responded Jenny.

Phones were hung up, and Jenny snatched Madeleine closed, cuddling up with her in the comfort of the window seat. Madeleine started at Jenny, sitting comfortable in her mother's lap, holding tightly onto her stuffed animal. Jenny tilted her head and smiled at the toddler.

"You know your father loves you, _ahuva_?" she asked, leaning forward to press her forehead to Madeleine's. "Oh, he loves you _very_ much."

* * *

><p>He heard her before he saw her.<p>

He heard the heavy clopping of her boots an the jingling of the bells she had adorned herself with and he sighed; he had thought the perky lab tech had left and he had been hoping to make a subtle getaway.

"Gibbs!" Abby said brightly, bouncing up to his desk.

He had just lifted his heavy duffle bag on to it, and he gave her a very small smile, nodding in greeting.

"Abs," he said nicely, though a little distracted.

He was mere hours away from Christmas with Madeleine and he was just anxious to get on the damn plane.

She beamed and heaved a sack onto the ground at her feet, shuffling up to him in her high platforms and dragging him in to a big, warm, holiday hug.

"Gibbs!" she squealed, leaning back, and then clasping her hands together. "Merry Christmas, Gibbs!"

"Merry Christmas, Abby," he responded.

"You're leaving to come to my party, right? There will be eggnog and mistletoe and secret Santa—you're coming, right Gibbs?"

He hesitated, and she began to frown, admonishing.

"You have to," she said, stomping her foot a little. "You can't spend the holiday alone. _Eggnog_, Gibbs."

"Can't, Abs," he said, tapping his bag. "Got a plane to catch."

Abby pursed her lips. She cocked her head at the duffle and sighed, folding her arms.

"Disappearing cryptically again?" she asked smartly. "Is the Justice League in trouble, Superman?" Abby quipped, looking pleased with her own joke.

He just smirked a little, picking up his bag. He looked at Abby and began to move around her. She put out her hand and stopped him, biting her lip.

"I have a present for you," she said earnestly. "Hold on."

He paused, feeling intrigued, and a little awkward. He was still getting used to Abby Sciuto as a member of NCIS. She had started while he was in Moscow, and had taken a special liking to him upon his return. It was whispered that she had a bit of a schoolgirl crush, but he didn't know about that. He felt oddly protective of her; she was so innocent and seemed so sweet and young—he felt the need to shield her from the horrors the world's cards had dealt him.

She pulled an object out of her Santa bag and handed it to him, beaming. It wasn't wrapped—it just had a big, fluffy red bow adorned with sparkles tied on it. She snatched up his hand and placed the gift in it, squeezing his wrist amiably.

"It's not a power tool," she said brightly.

Gibbs smiled slowly as he held up the brand new hammer, nodding his head slowly in approval.

He appreciated the gesture. Abby had discovered his boat-building fetish when she'd crept by his house to "check on him" after a rough case. She had fallen down his stairs, and become inexplicably excited about the boat.

"Got a good eye for hand tools, Abs," he remarked.

"I work for Habitat for Humanity," she said happily. "You like to build stuff. You can help some time."

Gibbs smiled at her. He leaned forward and pecked her cheek.

"Thanks," he murmured, giving her a good, warm nod.

She heaved her bag up and then threw herself at him in another hug.

"Gibbs," she said earnestly in his ear. "You're going to someone for Christmas, right?"

He gently extricated himself. He studied her for a moment and then nodded carefully, his eyes becoming slightly guarded again.

Abby clapped her hands together.

"Good," she said matter-of-factly.

Gibbs hoisted up his duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder, giving Abby another nod goodbye.

"Hey," she called as he was walking away. "Are you ever gonna tell us where you go?"

He inclined his head thoughtfully, wondering if he might ever let Abby find out—or if she would ever ferret it out.

He smirked, and turned away, leaving her to wonder, while he turned all of his thoughts back to Madeleine and Jenny—and Christmas in the desert.

* * *

><p>"Look at all these people, Madeleine," Jenny cooed gently, using her voice to keep the apprehensive baby calm. Madeleine had never been in an airport before, and Tel Aviv's was particularly crowded for the Holiday Season.<p>

Security was tight, the people were many, and there were hundreds of sights, noises, and sounds that were all new to the sixteen-month-old. Jenny held her close, fussily adjusting the soft, floppy beret on the dark-ish baby hair.

"Safe?" asked Madeleine, her fingers tugging in Jenny's hair. She clung to Jenny's neck, eyes wide and curious.

"Hmmm," Jenny mused hesitantly. "No, no safe," she decided, wishing Madeleine to stay clingy for now. "You just stick with me," she said, adjusting Madeleine on her hip. She darted through a few more people, walking confidently to the gate Jethro would deplane at.

She was happy she got the chance to retrieve him from the airport this time—Tali had been busy, and for once, Jenny had not been. She wanted to go. The drive had been relaxing—even in Tel Aviv traffic, and Madeleine had been fascinated by the rare car ride, staring out the window and giggling and cooing the whole time.

She was only resigned now because the crowd, noise, and strange surroundings were scaring her.

"Mama," Madeleine said clearly, reaching up and pulling her hat down over her eyes. She grinned and laughed, peeking out of it again. "Mama," she said again, opening her mouth wide.

"Peek-a-boo!" Jenny said with a smile, crinkling her nose.

Madeleine giggled. She hid under her green beret again, wrinkling her own nose. This time, she left her hat down, and slowly, Jenny pushed it up. Madeleine shrieked and, as Jenny came to a stop before the appropriate gate, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to her daughter's nose.

"You are so cute, princess," she complimented seriously. "Your father is going to eat you up."

Madeleine smiled. Jenny chomped her teeth.

"Are you anxious to see DaDa?" Jenny asked, cocking her head. "You remember DaDa, Madeleine? From your birthday?" Jenny tickled the toddler's stomach a little. Madeleine grabbed Jenny's tickling fingers and squeaked, flopping against Jenny's shoulder and snuggling up.

"Ehma," she murmured, sighing, content.

Jenny smiled and rested her hand on Madeleine's back, standing off to the side and shifting her weight every few moments so her feet would not fall asleep. Jethro's flight was due in any moment, and she was getting the usual tense, apprehensive feeling about seeing him.

Phone conversations always felt artificial and surreal; she'd found that seeing him in person was awkward, uncertain—it was all kinds of things she couldn't quite put into words. She was particularly concerned about how it would be this time—what with them having slept together last time and…sort of re-involved themselves in a relationship.

Madeleine lifted her head and began looking around, playing idly with Jenny's hair as she took in her surroundings. She disentangled her hand and pointed around, making noises of curiosity or surprise.

The toddler hummed to herself, murmuring Hebrew sounds from a song Tali frequently sang to her. Jenny smiled, turning around to glance at the flight schedules. She tapped her foot impatiently, shifting Madeleine a little on her hip. She was growing so much that it was getting to be a hassle to hold her for long periods of time—but Jenny hadn't wanted to bother with the stroller in an airport this crowded, and Madeleine always cried in the stroller. She preferred walking—walking, or Mommy.

"Jen."

Jenny whirled around and Madeleine let out a squeal, covering her eyes. Jenny felt bad for startling her, but her heart had leapt into her throat at the sound of Jethro's deep voice. She started as if she might jump at him and hug him, but she was holding the baby, so the action was hard to commit to. Instead, she bit her lip and sucked in her breath.

"Jethro," she greeted, a little breathlessly.

"Hey, Jenny," he returned, reaching out and pulling her against him without hesitation. She drew her shoulders in, allowing him to hug her, and smiled when he dropped a kiss to her cheek. He released her quickly and turned his eyes to Madeleine, looking at Jenny briefly to take his cue.

"Madeleine, say _hello_ to Daddy," Jenny said softly.

"Shome," Madeleine said obediently.

"English," said Jenny patiently.

Madeleine shook her head and covered her eyes, beaming bashfully. She fluttered her lashes and peeked at Jethro through her hands.

"Do you remember who this is?" Jenny asked gently, reaching up to move one of Madeleine's hands. "Hmm?"

Madeleine shook her head in the negative, but she raised her hand and smiled.

"Shome," she said again. She leaned forward and pointed at one of the buttons on Jethro's coat, sticking her tongue between her teeth. "Hmmm," she hummed, her fingers brushing it.

"Shalom, Maddie," Jethro said, taking her hand and clasping it in his.

She gasped, widening her eyes. She giggled and stared at him, wriggling her fingers in his grasp.

Jenny laughed.

"She has been in such a good mood lately," she mused, slowly handing Madeleine over to him. "I think she's excited to see you."

Jethro made a non-committal noise as he took Madeleine and, once she had cautiously settled into his arms and made no protest against him holding her, kissed his daughter on the top of the head, hugging her under his chin gently.

"NO!" Madeleine shrieked, surprising him. She turned and looked at Jenny, her brow furrowing, as if panicked. "Safe?" she asked, whining, her voice rising in pitch. It seemed she had been distracted by Jenny's communication by Jethro. "Safe? Safe?" she repeated, her eyes filling up pitifully.

Jenny nodded earnestly, and stepped closer, placing her hands on either side of Madeleine's torso.

"Safe," she soothed gently. "Daddy is always safe, _ahuva_," she said assured the toddler. Jenny flicked her eyes upwards. "Jethro, tell her you're safe. Say it in English and Hebrew."

"Safe," Jethro said firmly, tapping his chest gently. He repeated it in the Israeli language. Madeleine looked up at him with big green eyes and nodded slowly. Jethro nodded back, offering her an encouraging smile. He stroked her hair, showing her another friendly touch.

Madeleine stared at him, tilting her head back into the touch as if she might be able to see him stroking her. Then she sat back up and cocked her head at him. She pointed at his eye, making him blink and lean back a little.

"Boo," she giggled. She covered one eye with the hand she had pointed with. "Boo," she said insistently.

"Jethro," Jenny said with another laugh. "She wants to play."

Pleasantly surprised at how different his daughter's reception of him was this time around, Jethro grinned—and slowly raised his hand to his eyes.

* * *

><p>Jenny yawned as she walked back from one of Mossad's underground control rooms. She had just finished the last thing she would participate in for two weeks, and it would be an understatement if she said she was relieved. She was tired, but she was jittery as well—she was anxious to get back, as she had left Madeleine with Jethro for almost eight hours, and it was only the second day he had been here.<p>

She chewed on her lip, wondering if the day had gone well—or badly. As she took the stairs slowly, wincing, she was so fatigued; she felt more apprehensive about what she would find when she walked into her suite.

Madeleine had been in a semi-pleasant mood when Jenny had left, but that didn't mean she hadn't freaked out the moment her mother had disappeared. Jenny hoped it wasn't like that—she hoped Jethro had a good day with the toddler. Bedtime last night hadn't gone too well; cranky and tired, Madeleine had resorted to clinging to Jenny and fussing when Jethro was around.

Jenny blinked in surprise when she suddenly found herself in front of her door. She yawned again, checking her watch as she opened it. It was closing in on nine o'clock. Madeleine _should_ be in bed, but Jenny wouldn't blame Jethro if she weren't.

Closing the door behind her, Jenny listened hesitantly, her brow furrowing. She was perturbed by the silence, and for a moment her heart leapt into her throat—until she heard a low growl and a shrill giggle.

The two noises confused her. Jethro sounded _angry_…but Madeleine sounded excited.

"Jethro?" Jenny called, pushing her hair back. She walked towards he nursery.

She didn't hear anything. Then:

"C'mere," she heard him growl playfully. "Shhh. Mommy's home."

Raising her eyebrows, Jenny leaned into the nursery, looking around. Her eyebrows jumped up in amusement and she parted her lips, starting to grin.

Jethro was on his hands in knees near the crib with Madeleine's baby blanket draped over his head. He had Madeleine cradled in front of him with one arm, and she peered over his hand mysteriously, blinking slowly.

She squealed and tried to escape.

Jethro turned is head and growled at her again, shaking his head in her ribs.

"Mama!" cried Madeleine.

"Go get her," Jethro encouraged, letting his hand slip away. "Go," he nudged Madeleine's back with his forehead.

Madeleine darted across the room unsteadily, slowing to stretch out her arms when Jenny crouched down.

"What's going on, Madeleine?" Jenny asked, raising her eyebrows with interest. She peered around Madeleine's head and eyed Jethro suspiciously. "What's he doing? Hmm?"

Madeleine squealed and pointed at Jethro, burying her face in Jenny's shoulder.

"Ah!" she squawked, high-pitch. She giggled. She lifted her head and looked back at Jethro. "Aba!" she called, tilting her head. "Aba?"

Jethro stood up and pulled the blanket off, tossing it on the changing table and walking over.

Madeleine pressed close to Jenny and held her hands up, wriggling her fingers menacingly. Then she hunkered back down against Jenny as Jethro got closer, baring his teeth at her playfully.

"Is Daddy trying to scare you?" Jenny asked curiously, lifting her eyebrows in mock terror. "Tsk, tsk, what will we do with him?"

"Aba!" Madeleine said, perking up. She began to play with Jenny's hair, a signature move of hers. Jenny smiled and turned her eyes to Jethro.

"Why is she speaking Hebrew?" she asked, knitting her brow.

"She was using English," he answered. "Tali came in to play with her, and then she switched to 'Aba'."

Jenny pursed her lips. She looked hesitant.

"I'll tell her to reinforce English. I know you don't like the Hebr—"

"It's fine," Jethro shook his head seriously, his tone sincere. "Jen, it's fine. It's the same."

He had changed his mind. He figured he shouldn't be picky about what Madeleine called him so long as she wasn't scared of him.

"Then…today went okay?" Jenny asked slowly, adjusting her arms under Madeleine so she had a better grip.

Jethro nodded curtly.

"It was good," he said neutrally. He reached into his pack pocket and pulled out a folded, crumpled piece of paper. He shook it open and looked at her solemnly. "We coloured you a picture."

Jenny raised her eyebrows.

Jethro pointed.

"It's a green unicorn."

"I can see that," she said, bemused by his behavior.

She grinned, and reached out with one hand, taking the picture fondly.

"Thank you," she said sweetly. She turned her head to Madeleine and kissed her forehead. "Thank you for the picture, babe."

Madeleine tapped it with her fingers and grinned.

"Aba," she said clearly. She looked at Jethro and grinned. "Ha!" she giggled.

"Aww," Jenny mused, lifting her shoulders. She tilted her head at the little girl and gave her a knowing look. "You know what time it is?"

"Oh-uh," said Madeleine, puckering her lips. She said the phrase backwards. "Oh-uh," she said again. She pointed at her crib. Jenny nodded sympathetically.

"Bedtime," she agreed, still nodding. "Mama will put you to bed tonight, honey. I missed you today," she said earnestly. She glanced at Jethro. He nodded curtly.

"I'm gonna hop in the shower, Jen," he said, excusing himself.

Jenny, still mostly engaged with Madeleine, nodded.

"Say goodnight," she coaxed. Madeleine waved at Jethro.

"'Night, sweetheart," Jethro muttered. He leaned forward and kissed her head, patting her back affectionately. She waved again.

Jethro slipped out of the room, and Jenny immediately transitioned into bedtime mode.

"Things are a little jumbled, aren't they?" she said conversationally, sitting Madeleine on the changing table and picking up some pajamas. Jenny nodded. "I know. But your Dad's a nice guy. He's happy to see you…"

Jenny trailed off; talking animatedly to her daughter while Madeleine smiled and watched with interest, obediently lifting her arms to let herself be dressed.

* * *

><p>Tired, and breathless, Jenny flexed her fingers on Jethro's arm, squeezing him tight and then letting go, her eyes closed tightly and her breathing shallow as she lay next to him in bed. She listened to him shifting around, getting comfortable—neither said anything.<p>

He rolled to his side, splayed a palm over her neck, and kissed her again, that mind-numbingly sexy post-climax kiss that just made a person feel good. She reached up to hold his wrist, feeling his pulse run through his veins. He pulled away and, breathing in deeply, she pushed her forehead against his collarbone, seeking closeness to his warmth.

Jethro just moved his hand around to the back of her neck and held her head there, relaxing into the pillows and wrinkled sheets. She mellowed out slowly, smirking a little.

The baby monitor hummed quietly, giving no signal that Madeleine had woken up.

Jenny pushed some hair out of her face and licked her lips, shivering slightly as sweat dried on her. He pulled the covers around her without a word.

"I think about this sometimes," she said throatily. "When I get a minute."

"Hmm," he muttered, nonchalant. He sounded interested. She nodded.

"I didn't have a free minute to remember that it had been a year and a half since I had sex until we slept together on her birthday," she murmured. "But after that, Jethro, damn," she sighed heavily. "It builds up until I can't think."

"Yeah?" he retorted. He smoothed his hand down her spine and curved her closer to him, draping his leg over her knees. "Next time that happens, give me a call."

Jenny laughed, her face still buried in his shoulder.

"And just how is that going to help?" she probed, exasperated.

"I'll talk you through it," he said in a low voice.

"HA," Jenny snorted skeptically.

He leaned back and glared at her, offended.

"Hey," he said, hurt. "I was a Marine."

"So?" she murmured, curling up without him, if he was going to roll away like that.

"_So_," he mocked. "Had a wife halfway across the world I had to tend to somehow," he grunted a little suggestively.

Jenny smiled, looking at him, bemused. She tried to hide it, but she was unsure how to act. She knew he was talking about Shannon—he had been out of the Corps for all of his other marriages—and it was the first time he'd mentioned his late family without prompting.

He looked at her and then lay on his back, folding an arm behind his head.

Jenny glanced over him, letting her gaze lazily drink him in for all he was worth. She bit her lip and leaned up slowly, placing her hand on his navel. His skin jumped tightly beneath her touch and he reached down, moving her hand up higher, away from his groin. Jenny lifted an eyebrow, a little surprised, but she didn't tease him—she was too tired to get him going again.

She let out a slow breath, tilting her head at him hesitantly. He raised an eyebrow back at her, waiting for her to speak.

"I've been considering renting an apartment," she said slowly, pulling the words from somewhere deep in the back of her mind. She hadn't mentioned the idea to anyone, mostly because she knew Eli David would pitch a fit.

Jethro narrowed his eyes cautiously, moving his hand up and down her back slightly.

"Why?" he asked.

She frowned, conflicted, and raised one shoulder.

"Madeleine," she said quietly. "It doesn't matter so much now because she's still little, and she feels safe here but," Jenny paused, trying to word this correctly. "I want to keep her with me and keep her safe, but I worry she'll be unsociable, and won't know how to interact with other kids," Jenny's confidence picked up as she got the words out. "She'll need education, too—"

"How long do you think you're going to live here?" he broke in tensely.

She faltered, her mouth hanging open. Her cheeks coloured uncomfortably.

"It's an undetermined timeline, Jethro," she answered firmly.

He glared at her, his jaw tight.

"Jen," he said, sounding uptight. "I don't want her to grow up here," he said.

She bit her lip hard. She knew that, somewhere in the back of her mind. She didn't want to raise Madeleine in Israel either. It was dangerous, and Madeleine was an American—an American with parents who worked with the federal government.

At this point, though, Jenny had to look at the future from different angles.

"I can't pinpoint a date," she said sharply, becoming defensive. "I don't think we'll be here past her seventh year."

"_Seven_?" Jethro ground the word out harshly. His eyes widened and he moved to sit up a little, a muscle in his jaw jumping.

She looked at him, pale.

"What do you want me to say?" she asked, exasperated. "I have a career."

"_We_ have a daughter!" he fired back sharply.

"You want me to give up my career?" she asked, her eyes flashing. "Jethro?"

"I didn't ask you to do that."

"I don't understand what you're asking," she said, her voice turning icy.

He looked frustrated, but they both stayed where they were—in the same position, holding their ground. He thrust his arm in a random gesture towards the door of the bedroom.

"I don't want to spend seven years wondering if I'll see her!" he snapped roughly. "It's dangerous—" he stopped, and Jenny was confused because he looked confused. He looked away from her, staring at the wall that separated Jenny's bedroom from Madeleine's.

Then, he pushed her away and got up.

"Jethro?" she asked, shocked. He grabbed his jeans and pulled them on over his bare ass, striding out of the room. She was too stunned to react for a moment, completely blindsided by whatever had just happened.

"Jethro!" she hissed angrily. "What's _wrong_ with you?"

She struggled out of bed after him, slipping on a t-shirt that barely covered enough to make her decent.

He had stopped at Madeleine's door, and he reached out—she thought he was going to go in, but he closed the door and rested both his fist and his forehead against it. She walked over hesitantly, wrapping her arms around herself.

She stood there, waiting.

She thought it had been an eternity, and she almost gave up—she thought he was ignoring her.

Then he swiveled his head around and tapped the door quietly with his fist, hitting the doorframe inadvertently with his elbow.

"What if something happens to her?" he growled hoarsely.

She heard the unspoken 'What if something happens to her, _too'_ in his question. She blanched. He just glared at her, and shook his head, rubbing his hand over his mouth violently.

"Kelly was eight, Jen," he said forcefully. "She was only _eight_, and I didn't have _time-_"

He just stopped talking.

She had noticed that Jethro tended to do that—sometimes, he just stopped talking. She had to admit, she was almost afraid of what it meant.

He hung his head.

Her shoulders slumped and she moved forward, unfolding her arms.

"I am thinking about her safety, Jethro," she soothed honestly. "It's _all_ I think about. I'm trying to do right by her, and I can't—I can't just coop her up here all the time. She needs to play and make friends—" Jenny broke off.

She shivered and covered her mouth, taking a few gulps of air.

"I thought you hated me keeping her here," she tried weakly, exasperated, stressed, and exhausted. "You called this a trap."

"It's safe," he ground tightly out, his voice indecipherable.

Jenny bit her lip. This visit had started off so well—she shouldn't have brought it up, the apartment. She hadn't been prepared for a conversation like this—she had thought he would like the idea of more privacy, and a more childlike childhood for Madeleine.

If she had her way, this would be different. Sometimes she wished she was in the backyard of her townhouse playing Barbies with Madeleine, and sometimes she wanted her career with the same ferocity that had driven her to leave Jethro.

She remembered why she was a part of NCIS—she remembered how her father had died and it not only angered her now, it scared the hell out of her. To think, that man, that bastard who had framed her father and murdered him—he was out there. He could touch her baby. And sometimes, it made her thirst for revenge more than ever.

"Things could happen anywhere," Jenny said shakily, desperately. But the words scared her, because something had happened to Jethro's family—and it had happened in sunny California, and she knew he was panicking because he thought it was unsafe here, but he was thinking the same thing—Shannon and Kelly had died in the States.

She breathed in shallowly, and tried to catch her breath. She felt like she couldn't breathe, and she sounded ragged suddenly, like she wasn't getting enough oxygen. He grabbed her arm, drawn out of the silent funk he had been in.

"Jenny," he said urgently. "You okay?"

She nodded, still trying to catch her breath. It felt like a panic attack.

Her eyes wide, she reached out blindly and grabbed for his shirt—but he wasn't wearing one. She hugged onto his shoulders and ducked her head to his chest, her shoulders shivering. He pushed her away and tilted her head up to look at her, concerned.

She noticed his eyes were bloodshot and heavy.

"I don't want to lose her," Jenny said, her words coming out as a constricted cry. She dug her nails into him and leaned forward, her mouth moving against his bare shoulder. She closed her eyes briefly and gasped. "It's making me—I'm going to be sick," she hissed, jumping back from him.

She looked green, but he reached out and took her hands, pulling her back, and shook his head.

He pulled her back again, closer, shaking his head.

"Don't get sick," he said gruffly. He held the back of her head, massaging in a soothing way. "It's okay, Jen," he said gently. "She's safe. Maddie's safe."

It was disconcerting how quickly he switched from needing comfort to being the one who offered it.

She calmed down quickly, feeling sheepish about what had happened. She covered her mouth and closed her eyes, dissolving into poorly suppressed tears. Jethro moved her hand and kissed her, wrapping his arms tightly around her middle.

She pulled her arms into herself, clutching them at her lips.

"I hate this," she let out vehemently. "Ever since she was born I've been this ridiculous, inconvenient mess of—I cry so _much_," she swore.

He shrugged, leaning back.

"She cries her fair share," he offered.

"You never cry," she accused self-consciously, her voice weary.

He looked at her, unreadable, for what seemed like a very long time.

Then he moved his head down imperceptibly, closer to her.

"Yeah, Jen," he corrected heavily. "Yeah I do."

He slipped out of her grasp, opening the nursery door.

"Go to bed," he said.

"What?" she asked, her voice rising. Again, he startled her, threw her off with his random actions. If this was his way of dealing with—with however he—she couldn't take it. It was destroying her nerves.

"You're tired," he said gently. And then, "I'll be there in a minute."

She started to lash out, but she didn't have the energy. She stood, watching him disappear, and then stormed back into the room, confused, scared, angry—and now, crying. She curled up where he had been laying; the bed was still slightly warm from their sexual exploits earlier.

What seemed like hours later, Jethro came in—a bulky shadow in the dark, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Jenny sat up, her brow furrowed—he had Madeleine with him.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

He didn't answer, but her laid the toddler—who was looking around with groggy, not-really-awake-eyes—down on the bed and wrapped her in blankets before he wordlessly settled back in next to her.

"Jethro," protested Jenny half-heartedly. "You'll spoil her."

She didn't like sleeping with the baby in the bed.

"I don't care," he said after a moment of silence. He smoothed Madeleine's hair and kissed her forehead, his eyes adjusting, and meeting Jenny's in the dark. "Tomorrow," he said gruffly. "We talk about you moving."

She nodded slowly, her lips parted.

Tomorrow was Christmas Eve.

* * *

><p>"Madeleine, roll the ball," Jenny instructed gently, leaning forward on her knees in the recreational room. The movement caused Jethro's hand to slide up her thigh. He had kept it in the same place since sitting down next to her, and she felt like his palm was possessively burned into her skin.<p>

She also knew everyone else in the room was aware of it.

Madeleine, who had lifted up a billiard ball as if it weren't dangerous, looked at Jenny and slowly placed it back down, rolling it instead. Jenny nodded her approval, leaning back some.

Jethro leaned forward at the same time, reaching into his pocket. She heard his phone ringing for a split second before he stood up and began to leave, flicking it open deftly.

"Gibbs," she heard him greet in his customary way.

Glancing after him briefly, Jenny leaned back and relaxed, keeping an eye on Madeleine. She pushed her hair back and looked around the room. Tali David cocked her head and looked over at Jenny with interest.

"Jenny, why does Agent Gibbs not commune with us very long?" she asked. Her English was a little confused, and very proper. She had been speaking in a language Jenny did not know all day, and switching back to English proved more difficult for Tali than it did for her sister or brother.

Jenny puckered her lips, trying to find a cordial answer, but Haswari _kindly_ did not allow her to finish that attempt.

"Because of me," the Arab-Israeli said simply, a lazy smirk gracing his features.

He lounged forward on the billiards table, very carefully tapping a purple-striped ball towards Madeleine. She giggled and rolled it back to him, the game she had been playing for well on ten minutes now—while Jethro had scowled on in annoyance.

Madeleine sat atop the green felt of the billiard table, sort of a point of calm in the rec room. It was often that Haswari played with her in this way, though Jenny was not quite sure how the tradition had been started, and Tali was mum on the subject. It surprised Jenny that Haswari was so tolerant and kind to the toddler, but he was—and Madeleine took to him.

Jethro hated it. He hated Haswari, and Jenny knew it was never going to change. His gut provoked him to distrust the man, and there was no chance of Jethro ignoring his gut. Since the mission Jenny had taken right after Madeleine's birth had gone bad, and Haswari's name had been brought up, Jethro's rancor towards Haswari had gotten worse.

Jenny did not see it as her job to change his mind.

"Oh, Ari, I do not think that is true," Tali said soothingly.

"It makes no difference to me," Haswari said smoothly, nudging another ball towards Madeleine.

Tali gave him a look and closed a book she had been looking through, turning in her chair. Her soft, intense blue eyes alighted on Jenny and she tilted her head, smiling.

"Have you and Agent Gibbs resumed your romance?" she asked bluntly.

At the other end of the futon Jenny lounged on, Ziva snorted quietly under her breath. Jenny shot her colleague a warning look, and the elder David sister kept her head down, smirking wickedly.

"Tali," Ziva placated. "_Bays dir op di tsung_."

At the words, Haswari looked up, his eyes narrow. He frowned slightly and hunched back over, shaking his head.

Tali stuck out her tongue and wriggled it teasingly.

"I will not," she said primly. "I want to know—how do you say, in the American films?—if Jenny is—if they are back together?"

Jenny looked blandly at Ziva.

"What did you tell her?" she asked.

Ziva did not answer.

Tali grinned.

"They will not answer you," piped up the very young girl sitting across from Tali—a young girl the teenager had been dragging around with her all day.

Jenny looked at her, but she did not say anything. She didn't know her, and she hadn't asked about her when Tali had started appearing with her—nor had Ziva or Haswari offered any information. Jenny did not know how old the girl was—but when she judged _very_ young, she meant ten or twelve.

The girl seemed a little uncomfortable with Jenny's lack of answer.

"They are speaking Yiddish," she said in Hebrew, frowning. "They speak it to each other. It is their language. Ari hates it," she finished, arching her eyebrows snottily.

"You are not to call me by my given name, Liat," Ari growled quietly. "You will learn soon to hold your tongue amongst your betters."

"Be kind to Liat, Ari!" cooed Tali, reaching over and taking her young friends' hand. "Liat is correct, Jenny," she said. "Ziva and I learned Yiddish as children, so the nanny could not understand us."

Tali beamed wickedly, but Jenny noticed a sour, brooding look on Haswari's face. She frowned a little, a rush of sympathy hitting her. She had learned things about Haswari since becoming more involved with Mossad; she knew he had been ostracized from his sisters, only visiting them on occasion, until Eli brought him to live permanently at Mossad—and Haswari had been raised as a Muslim, like his mother, whereas the rest of his family practiced Judaism.

Sometimes, it was easy for Jenny to understand the way Ari was.

She stood up and walked to the pool table, leaning over it to roll a ball at Madeleine from a different direction, hoping the tense moment had thrown Tali off the hunt.

She should have known better. Mossad operative or not, Tali David was still a teenager.

"I will not relent until you kick me a bone," Tali said wickedly. "If you are not back together, then you are sleeping together, yes?"

Jenny smiled tightly, her lips sealed.

"'Throw'," she said guardedly.

"Pardon?" asked Tali, brow furrowed.

"I would _throw_ you a bone," Jenny schooled.

"Ah, so you will tell me!"

Jenny rolled her eyes, having walked into the trap. She straightened a little, shaking her head, and clicked her tongue to get Madeleine's attention.

"Come here, little one," she coaxed, positive Haswari was tired of the game and ready to play the sister he had originally challenged.

Madeleine obeyed unsteadily, crawling forward and then, unwilling to let go of the shiny, fun number eight ball she was holding, tried to use it to haul herself to her feet—a very uneasy perch to choose.

"Madeleine Jane Gibbs!" Jenny barked, more out of fear than anger—because Madeleine was close to the edge, and when she slipped on the ball, Jenny saw her tumbling off the pool table and knew she wasn't close enough to catch her.

Tali jumped up, looking terrified. Even Ziva reacted.

It was Haswari who caught Madeleine, but he caught her by one leg and one arm—it was the only way he could—and Madeleine started screaming; she was startled, and the rough handling had hurt her.

"Oh my god," Jenny gasped quietly, leaping over to the two of them. Her heart leapt into her throat. Haswari swung Madeleine into a cradle, pressing his thumb to her forehead and massaging soothingly.

Madeleine just cried, curling up even as Jenny reached in to soothe her.

In true Gibbs fashion, Jethro appeared out of nowhere—as always, hyper-sensitive to one of his _people_ in danger. He stormed across the room.

"What happened?" he growled threateningly, advancing on Haswari.

"Jethro," Jenny snapped quietly, placing a hand on his bicep. His muscles jumped and he shook her off a little, inclining his head towards Haswari angrily.

"Aba," sobbed Madeleine, catching sight of Jethro. She reached up. "_Aba_," she whimpered, her eyes red. Jethro reached for her, his arms brushing Haswari's tensely.

"Get your hands off of her," Gibbs snarled under his breath.

Haswari did not answer. He pressed his hand soothingly to Madeleine's forehead, even as Jethro snatched her away and held her protectively to his chest.

"She fell, Jethro," Jenny said neutrally. "Haswari caught her," she explained, shooting a glance at Haswari.

The Arab-Israeli looked cold; his face was unreadable. He didn't say anything; he was used to distrust.

Jethro turned a calculating eye on Haswari, his eyes narrowed.

"She would have broken her neck, Agent Gibbs," Tali said softly, speaking up kindly for her brother.

After another moment of glaring, Jethro nodded curtly; some of the animosity left his eyes. Still, he turned on his heel and left the room, neither speaking nor acknowledging Jenny. She heard him say something to Madeleine as he left, but she couldn't make it out.

Jenny closed her eyes tensely and breathed out, her shoulders shaking.

"Are you alright, Shepard?" Ziva asked, breaking the awkward silence.

Jenny raised her eyes to her composed partner and nodded. It had not been a good experience for what was supposed to be the light-hearted Christmas Eve. The redhead turned to Haswari, her cheeks flushed.

"_Toda_," she said in Hebrew. "Thank you for catching her."

He stared at her immovably and then bent back to billiards.

"I could have let her fall," he said blankly.

With that phrase, Jenny was reminded that Haswari was dangerous—before anything else, he was dangerous. He was Mossad-Machine: he did his job with not a care for others, and this one act of kindness had resulted in mistreatment.

Shaken by his ominous answer, Jenny retreated, sitting next to Ziva. She knew Jethro would need time alone; if she went looking for him now, it would start a fight—and it would be ugly.

"Lighten the mood, Jenny," Tali coaxed wickedly, her voice breaking through. "Do tell me if you love Agent Gibbs."

Jenny flinched and turned away, pointedly ignoring the teenager.

"Ziva," she said in a low voice. She inclined her head with subtlety at the child Tali had been attached to all day. "Tell me about that one."

Ziva looked neutrally over Jenny's shoulder.

"Liat," she said professionally. "Is a Mossad orphan. She is in Eli's custody. She has chosen to give her life to the organization. Tali is her mentor."

"Tali is a child," Jenny said, eyes wide with disbelief.

Ziva blinked, shaking her head slightly.

"No, Jenny," she said carefully. "No child stays a child in Israel. No woman is a child at Tali's age."

Jenny turned to look at the orphaned Liat.

And she thought of Madeleine, and how vehemently Jethro didn't want her here.

* * *

><p>As she sat watching Madeleine ogle the wrapping paper and modest amount of new toys around her, Jenny found her view suddenly obstructed by a simple brown bag dangled in front of her face. She tilted her head up, raising her brow at Jethro. He shook the bag and sat down next to her, leaning back against the window seat to mimic her position.<p>

"What is this?" she asked suspiciously.

"Paper bag," he answered seriously.

"Jethro…" she began, frowning a little. She held the bag delicately, caught off guard. They were here to celebrate _Madeleine's_ Christmas. They weren't supposed to even acknowledge that they used to get each other presents and celebrate together.

"Open it," he said, tilting his head. "Ah, Jen, it's nothin'," he said, waving his head. He nodded his head again, insistent.

She gave him a look and opened up the paper bag, reaching in. She snorted at the lack of preparation of the gift; nothing was wrapped. There wasn't a ribbon, or a trace of tissue paper.

Jenny pulled out a camera. A nice one—not a Polaroid, or the disposable ones she had taken to using out of ease. A nice, sleek camera. She raised her eyebrows, holding it delicately, and tilted her head.

"I'm intrigued," she said good-naturedly. She smirked and narrowed her eyes. "This isn't a kinky gift, is it?" she asked wryly.

He laughed, and shook his head.

"It's an investment," he said gruffly, pointing at Madeleine.

She was busily stacking the wooden alphabet blocks Jethro had gotten for her. She paid them no heed.

Jenny smiled. She looked over at Gibbs, and then fiddled with the camera for a few minutes, relying on Jethro to supervise the toddler. Once she figured it out, she lifted the camera to eye-level, and captured a shot of Madeleine opening her mouth wide and holding up the **K** block in front of her face.

Jenny laughed, lowering the camera a little.

"Is this your way of telling me I don't send you enough pictures?" she asked, tilting her head.

He shook his head in the negative, and shrugged. He didn't say much else, so she nudged him—she bobbed her head towards Madeleine and smiled sweetly. He gave her a suspicious glare.

"Get over there with her," Jenny said, pointing.

He looked at her, as if asking her if she was serious. She stared right back.

"You bought the camera," she said.

"For _her_," he said, pointing at Madeleine vehemently.

She shrugged matter-of-factly.

"Don't you want some of you with her?" she asked seriously.

He started to snap back at her, but paused, glancing at Madeleine. He seemed to consider it, and then grunted as he shifted to his hands and knees and crawled towards Madeleine and her new presents. She looked up at him and squealed, excited by the company.

"Aba!" she said happily, presenting him with a block. She clutched the doll in her lap—hand made by Noemi—and waited patiently for Jethro to take the block. He sat up and pulled her into his lap, taking the block.

"Thanks," he said seriously, placing it carefully on Madeleine's stack.

She held the doll to her mouth and laughed, flopping into his chest. She pointed at another block.

"Aba," she said. She pointed heavenward. "Go," she said, apparently the only way she knew how to indicate what she wanted.

Gibbs placed another block on top of the stack. Again, Madeleine laughed.

"Aba. Go."

Jenny held up the camera, watching them play for a moment before she casually began to take a few pictures.

She didn't torture Jethro too much. She didn't want to go overboard. It was the simplest, nicest Christmas morning she had ever experienced in her life—and she found herself wondering why on earth she had ever thought she didn't want this.

She lowered the camera as the stack of blocks got higher, and began to wobble. Smirking, she started to crawl over to them, thinking she could help stabilize the tower of brand new blocks—instead, her movements on the floor caused the stack to come tumbling down.

"Oh-uh!" cried Madeleine, eyes wide, still switching up the 'uh-oh' phrase.

Jethro shot Jenny an outraged look.

"Look what Mommy did," he said, completely seriously, in the same voice he spoke to his agents with. He looked down at Madeleine soberly. "She is terrible at block towers," he said covertly.

Jenny laughed heartily, crawling up to Jethro's side and wriggling underneath his arm. He squeezed her shoulder, slipping his other arm around Madeleine's middle. Jenny leaned into Jethro and picked up a sticky Christmas bow, placing it smack in the middle of the toddler's hair.

She looked up at Jethro.

"Merry Christmas," she quipped, nodding at Madeleine. "She's yours."

He snorted.

Jenny pushed her hair back and made herself comfortable against his side, watching Madeleine slowly start reaching for blocks again.

She chewed her lip, and winced—for a moment, she looked at Madeleine, and she saw Liat in her place: orphaned, alone, and in the grip of Eli David before she was old enough to understand what had happened.

Jenny touched Jethro's thigh, nudging gently. He looked at her. She tilted her head up.

"Jethro," she said, "you give me until she's three years old," she said under her breath. "I know you don't want her here. Just give me until she's three, and I'll re-evaluate. I'll make some decisions."

He blinked at her, unreadable, and then, very slowly, nodded his head. Madeleine was about eight months away from her second birthday. He could give Jenny that request, even if it meant another eighteen months of travelling, and missing Madeleine bitterly.

"Okay, Jen," he said, squeezing her ribs.

She smiled faintly, relieved.

But she didn't know what she was going to do, because nothing had changed. NCIS had her career on a track; there was a five-year-plan involved. Her promise to Jethro meant she might end up throwing it all away.

* * *

><p><em>Reviews are much appreciated.<br>_-Alexandra


	7. Sheva

_****A/N: I must say-last week's episode of NCIS was superb; it was as if NCIS was back to it's glory, glory days! As usual, I thank you for waiting for this chapter (I know I'm putting an annoying amount of space between them) and I hope you enjoy it; I believe it is a bit longer than the last. Enjoy NCIS tonight, my fellow fans!_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Seven<strong>_

**February 2002**

"Jen," Gibbs drawled quietly, answering the phone in the middle of the bullpen while both Abby and DiNozzo stared at him with interest. "Can't talk right now."

"Are you sure?" she whined.

He lifted a brow to himself, caught off guard by the whining.

"Can't talk," he repeated regretfully.

Abby tilted her head and smiled at him expectantly. DiNozzo inched closer, trying to hear the conversation.

"Call me back the moment you're free," she said seriously, "because _your_ daughter just pulled the most _asinine_ stunt and she's got the bruise to prove it."

Momentarily distracted by the word 'bruise', Gibbs broke character. He straightened.

"Is she okay?" he asked sharply.

"Oh she's fine. She's—"

Jenny said something else, but Gibbs didn't hear. He had noticed Abby and DiNozzo looking even more interested, if possible.

He cleared his throat.

"You're in the middle of the bullpen, aren't you?" she asked suddenly.

"Got an audience," was his answer.

DiNozzo managed to look offended.

"Ah," she sighed, resigned. "Call me back," she repeated insistently, and hung up the phone.

Doing the same, Gibbs came back around his desk and indicated that Abby should resume explaining the latest case's forensics to him. She simply smiled sweetly at him and swayed back and forth a little, cocking her pony-tailed head with interest.

"Gibbs," Abby began pleasantly. "Is everyone okay?" she asked.

"Abs," he said pointedly, nodding to the screen they were using.

"You can share, Boss," Tony said seriously. "We're a team. We trust each other. We're friends," he said eagerly.

Gibbs glared at him.

"Not on your life, DiNozzo," he said, pointing at the screen. "Work."

* * *

><p>Jenny was playfully nursing the bruise on a sleepy Madeleine's kneecap when her phone rang. Almost exactly eight hours after she had called Jethro.<p>

"Mossad," she greeted customarily.

"What happened?" he demanded, without pleasantries.

"Hello to you, too, Agent Gibbs," Jenny retorted seriously. "It's only been _two_ months since we've spoken," she reminded him.

He muttered unhappily under his breath; yes, they were both stressed and displeased about that.

"Jen," he said with warning, "Don't play games."

Jenny sighed, tilting her head at Madeleine's drooping eyes as she casually rocked the toddler before bedtime.

"Madeleine has her first bruises," Jenny said smugly.

"Why do you sound so proud of that?" Gibbs snapped. "_Bruises_?" he repeated suspiciously. "Plural?"

"That's what the 's' at the end signifies," she answered smartly.

He growled at her.

"She jumped out of her crib, Jethro," Jenny explained with some amusement.

"_What_?" he asked.

"Mmm-hmm," Jenny confirmed matter-of-factly. "I suppose she tired of waiting for me to come get her."

He was silent.

"You let her jump out of her crib?"

Jenny narrowed her eyes.

"No, I did not _permit_ such acrobatics, Jethro," she patronized. "She'd been babbling for about ten minutes and I'd been up all night, so I let her talk to herself. She seemed to be happy. Next thing I know, I hear a thud and she screamed for me—and I walk in, and the goofball is on her knees on the floor."

"She could have killed herself," Jethro said in a pained voice.

Jenny lifted a brow and eyed Madeleine suspiciously, shaking her head. She lowered her voice.

"I think she's spending too much time with those David ninjas," she said solemnly.

Madeleine smiled at her and reached up, grasping at the phone.

"No," Jenny said playfully. "Remember last time you played with Mommy's cell phone?" she asked seriously.

Madeleine curled her hand back to her chest and squirmed, snuggling up to Jenny's ribs. Jenny smiled and held her firmly, rocking steadily back and forth.

"Heavy case load?" Jenny asked quietly, leaning her head back.

He grunted, fell silent, and then answered, his voice slightly faraway.

"Yeah," he answered. "Shorthanded," he added, his voice getting louder.

She paused.

"What are you doing?" Jenny asked.

"Boat," he answered as if it were obvious.

She nodded to herself. Of course.

"You need another team member, Jethro," she reminded him.

He made an annoyed noise. He was tired of her reminding him about that. He could fill that damn spot on his team when he felt like it—when he found someone who seemed like a valuable fit. He was still busy being annoyed that it wasn't Jenny.

"How's Madeleine?" he asked.

"Aside from the bruises?" asked Jenny rhetorically. "She's well. I'm teaching her more sign language; she's very good at it. She's learned how to say 'Please' and 'Thank you'," Jenny explained. "Er, sort of," she added in a murmured.

"How's she say 'em?" Gibbs asked.

"She says 'toad' for thank you, but she means '_toda'_—the Hebrew—and she says 'peas'," Jenny imitated.

Gibbs snickered.

"Shut-up," Jenny growled, flushing. She patted Madeleine's back soothingly, smiling. The toddler had fallen asleep, her hand clutching the front of Jenny's shirt tightly. "Jethro, this baby looks like you when she sleeps."

"She asleep?" he sounded slightly disappointed.

"Yeah," Jenny said, with a frown and a sigh. "The weather was gorgeous today—actually kind of cool, for a change—so I took her shopping and to play in the park, and then to a café with me while I did some work."

"She do okay in the café?" Gibbs asked.

"I mean," began Jenny slowly. "She's little, so she was restless, and I don't think she liked it. She had some orange juice and coloured a picture."

"What did you buy her?" Jethro asked suspiciously.

Jenny didn't answer for a moment. Then:

"Shoes."

"Seriously, Jen?"

"Shoes are important!"

"She's a year and a half. She'll just take them off."

"But then she throws them at Haswari and it's hilarious," Jenny protested.

Gibbs paused. He snorted. Jenny smirked—of course; the idea of his daughter doing anything to irk Haswari amused the hell out of him.

"My girl," he said smugly.

Jenny scoffed. She stood up and carried Madeleine to the crib, holding her cell between her ear and her shoulder as she settled the toddler down and snuggled her with a blanket. She watched Madeleine breathe a moment, and then crept out of the room, shutting the door.

"I think I've slept three days max since you left," she sighed wearily, dragging herself to her room, and then to her bed, and collapsing in exhaustion. She curled up in pillows and sheets, holding the phone lazily. "Those terrorist attacks, Jethro," she murmured.

She stopped, but he understood. Things had been just as bad for American government agencies; he could only imagine the level of panic Mossad must be operating under: no doubt they thought they were next. They knew it was a warning; it meant it was only a matter of time.

"You do any work for NCIS?" Gibbs asked gruffly, thinking with distaste of her close associations with the danger of Mossad.

"I coordinate the missions and information of NCIS presence in the Middle East," she said tiredly. "I'm also the liaison between here and DC. You know, Jethro, I've noticed Morrow never references Madeleine."

Gibbs muttered something incoherently. Morrow occasionally asked how the little girl was, mostly when Gibbs was getting his leave time in order. It was better to keep the whole thing under wraps, though—something that was getting more difficult, considering how eager Abby was to discover his 'disappearing secret'.

And how Ducky's ramblings and musings kept leading into statements that almost announced Madeleine's existence to everyone in the vicinity.

"You doing okay, Jen?" he asked sincerely.

"Yes," she answered, yawning. She furrowed her brow. "Are you still planning on a visit in the summer? Before her birthday?"

"So far," he answered. "Morrow's got no problem with me taking a couple days in the middle of May—"

"And you're guaranteed those five days at the beginning of August?"

"Yeah," he agreed.

Jenny fell silent for so long, he thought she might have fallen asleep.

She spoke up, and when she did, it was shaky, and he settled back—thinking she was going to need to talk for a long time. She said:

"She's going to be two in less than six months…and I _still_ can't believe I have a baby."

* * *

><p>"Strangulation," announced Donald Mallard finally, straightening up from the body on his examination table. He popped off his gloves and beamed at Gibbs, flicking his transparent face-guard out of the way and walking to the sink.<p>

Gibbs nodded curtly, starting to leave—but Ducky stopped him.

"Wait just a minute, Jethro," he said, placating. He scrubbed his hands dutifully and beamed at his friend. "Do tell me how that little girl of yours is doing."

Gibbs paused, backing up a little. He cleared his throat gruffly and lifted his shoulders.

"She's good," he answered slowly. "What do you want to know, Duck?"

"Ah, how old is she now? Nearly three?"

"Nah, she's eighteen months," Gibbs answered swiftly. "Two in August."

Ducky whistled.

"Time goes by so fast," he mused. "She talks now, of course?"

Gibbs shrugged.

"Some," he said. "She's got English and Hebrew, and Jenny says she confuses them. She's slower at learning words, but she can sign," he said, easing into the swing of talking about Madeleine.

He liked talking about Madeleine. Every time he received pictures or spoke to Jenny about something new Madeleine had done or learned, he felt a rush of pride, and the desire to inform someone immediately about how wonderful his daughter was—he had done so with Kelly; all of the marines had.

They had pretended caring for the kids was for the women and that it was the women who cooed and bragged over the babies, but really, once they all started having them, the barracks were full of competitions over whose was going to walk first.

"Do you have a recent picture?" Ducky asked, drawing his hands.

Gibbs made a face as if the answer was obvious, and dug his wallet out of his pocket. He pulled out the most recent photo Jenny had sent him and flashed it to Ducky. It was a rendition of Madeleine sitting in the window seat in a pretty green dress, chewing happily on the edge of an empty Starbucks cup.

Ducky chuckled and tapped the picture.

"I see there's no doubt she belongs to the two of you," he said, indicating the coffee cup. "She's a lovely little thing, Jethro," Ducky complimented. "When do you see her again?"

"'Bout a month," Gibbs replied. "Middle of May."

Ducky nodded, looking back at the picture.

"I'll have to send a gift along with you," he said warmly. "I don't have any grandchildren of my own, after all."

"Grandchildren?" the autopsy door swung open and DiNozzo swaggered in, having caught the tail end of the conversation. "Whose?" He asked, just as Gibbs was smacking his wallet closed and thrusting it back into his pocket.

DiNozzo grinned charmingly.

"Secrets don't make friends, gents," he said suavely.

Gibbs whacked him in the back of the head.

He growled:

"What did I tell you about talkin' like that?"

* * *

><p>It was way after hours at NCIS, and though he had been purposely working late into the night hours, Gibbs was kept immeasurably longer when Jenny called asking for something he couldn't deny her.<p>

He heard other people in the building occasionally, but he was relatively alone, which was why he had agreed and was currently ignoring the work he was pretending to do on the computer and listening to Jenny pretend to have sex with him.

He had his chin in his hand and he stared with hazy eyes at the desk in front of him, completely oblivious to his surroundings. He drew in a deep breath and his knee twitched slightly.

"Jethro?" she asked, her voice rising in pitch slightly; breathily.

"Jenny," he answered in a drawl, keeping his own voice low.

Jenny moaned.

"I miss hearing you say it," she said breathlessly.

"Where are you now?" he asked, interested.

"I," she answered, her voice catching, "I'm trying not to scream," she said through shallow gasps.

He could imagine her tossing in bed, curled on her side, clutching the bed sheets—or maybe on her back, her head thrown back, one leg braced up on the wall—he couldn't decide which image he liked better, so he went with both—and he cursed the fact that he was at the office and not at home—

"Gibbs!" a female voice squealed.

Gibbs sat up straight instantly, because it hadn't been Jenny—it wasn't her voice by a long shot, first of all, not to mention she had _never_ called him 'Gibbs' when they were in bed. He covered the mouthpiece of his cell phone quickly and paled, staring in disbelief at the woman who had suddenly pranced up in front of him.

"Do you ever go home, Abby?" he asked in a sort of growl, glaring at her in the dimly lit bullpen.

It took Jenny a minute to catch up with his end of the conversation, and after a moment she stopped making noise.

"Jethro?" she asked cautiously.

"It's a mystery, Gibbs," Abby answered sassily. "Like you. Do _you_ ever go home?" she fired back, arching a black eyebrow curiously.

He glared again and held up a finger, pushing his chair back and turning slightly so his side was sort of blocking Abby's view.

"I've got to go," he said grudgingly.

Jenny made a frustrated noise at the other end of the line.

"What could someone _possibly_ want from you at one in the morning?" she demanded, exasperated. She breathed out slowly, clutching the phone tightly.

"A head-slap," growled Gibbs, shooting a look at Abby.

She tilted her pig-tailed head at him curiously and beamed.

Jenny swore and he could hear her catching her breath again.

"You have company," she said, figuring it out. "Dammit," she cursed again, and then he heard her shuffling around. "I'm getting in the bath," she said, irritated. "If I don't—"

"Jen," he interrupted, unable to take hearing much more. He cut her off, then, so she wouldn't cloud his thoughts with ideas of what she was doing in the bath.

She made a noise of annoyance and blew air out through her nose.

"I'll call you sometime tomorrow, let you talk to her," she said, resigned.

He answered in the affirmative, and lowered his voice, holding the mouthpiece closer to his lips.

"Jen, tell her—"

"You love her, I know," Jenny agreed rapidly. "_Leila tov_," she threw out a Hebrew farewell and hung up, leaving Gibbs to turn, glaring still, to Abby, an impatient look on his face. Abby beamed at him.

"Were you talking to a girl just now?"

"Abs."

"Sorry. I mean, were you talking to a _woman_ just now?"

"_Abs_."

"Gibbs, how are we ever going to be friends if you won't have share time with me?" she demanded perkily, tilting her head. She had clearly had quite a bit of caffeine to keep her going this long.

"Abby," he placated, letting out a deep breath. "What are you doing here so late?"

"Working on cases," she said matter-of-factly. "I don't have anything else to do—but I knew you'd still be here, so I took a break from Pacci's case to check yours, and guess what…"

She began rambling, and Gibbs leaned back, smiling just a little. If they absolutely had to be interrupted, at least it was Abby—someone who didn't annoy the hell out of him.

* * *

><p><strong>April 2002<strong>

"Jethro," Jenny said breathlessly.

He must have answered at the last moment possible because she felt like the phone had been ringing forever. Relieved, Jenny paused, taking a deep breath.

"Yeah, Jen, you okay?"

"I'm fine—Madeleine!" she snapped, hoisting a bag on her shoulder and rushing forward to stop her toddler from darting into a crowd of people.

Showing a considerable amount of dexterity, she snatched up Madeleine into the crook of her arm and hoisted her onto her hip.

"Stay close to Mommy, love," Jenny murmured, and then tucked the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she presented her passport to a guard. "Jethro, I know this is really short notice—

"Tried to call on your birthday, Jen—" he began.

She made a noise to interrupt him and shook her head.

"It's okay, it's fine, just listen," she said quickly, trying to control a hyper toddler and check her baggage while filling him in. "Eli gave me leave time without warning, paid vacation—it's for my birthday, but they also need foreign operatives out of Mossad for some…well, it doesn't matter," she took a breath, rolling her eyes as Madeleine tried to take something from Jenny's purse. "I've got three days, you think you can meet up with us? Is that possible?"

She nodded in thanks to the guard, handed off her bags, and then adjusted the baby bag on her shoulder and held Madeleine more firmly, wincing a little. The toddler was getting heavier, and her squirming and incessant need to be the center of Jenny's attention made it difficult to multi-task around her.

"I can try," he said seriously. "Where are you taking her?"

Jenny wrinkled her nose, laughing in some amusement.

"Marseille."

He snorted.

"Let me talk to Morrow," he said.

"Mama," said Madeleine loudly, clutching Jenny's hair. "Mama!" she screamed, her voice rising even more. A few people turned to stare at Jenny.

"Great," groused Jenny, as Jethro laughed, clearly having heard the innocent plea from their daughter.

"Jen, you a little overwhelmed?"

"Shut up. I've got to get her some cheerios. Try to call me back soon—next hour?"

"Yeah, Jen," he said. He sounded rushed.

She felt stressed. She just wanted to get Madeleine on a plane and settle her down.

"Madeleine, say bye to Daddy. Say bye-bye," Jenny said, stepping around a couple saying goodbye.

"Hello," Madeleine piped up instead.

"Bye, Jethro," Jenny said, rolling her eyes.

She hung up seconds after he did and gave her daughter a look. Madeleine covered her eyes and shrieked with laughter.

* * *

><p>It had taken some haggling, but Gibbs had managed it. He'd sacrificed his trip to Israel in May, but he'd added a few days to Madeleine's second birthday—and so here he was, walking down a boardwalk at Marseille's Port Rouge beach searching for the address of the little villa Jenny had been put up in.<p>

Morrow had not been particularly happy to let Gibbs go, but as their cases currently were minor offenses, there really was no reason not to let DiNozzo try his hand at some misdemeanors by himself. And it was only three days. Three rare, valued days.

Gibbs walked up the white gravel drive of the correct villa and smiled when the door opened and Jenny put a hand on her hip in the doorway, looking much more like the Paris Jenny he remembered than the Mossad Jenny he had been dealing with.

Peeking around her knees, Madeleine eyed him carefully, holding on to the edge of Jenny's shorts with a small, obedient hand. Jenny reached down to stroke Madeleine's hair and, when Gibbs was finally close enough, she said:

"Well, baby, what do you say?"

"Shalom, Aba," she said bashfully, snuggling behind Jenny's knee a little. Smiling, Gibbs crouched down, letting his bag fall to the floor. He peered around at her.

"Shalom," he repeated warmly. "Maddie, you're so big," he said, widening his eyes.

Five months made a big difference. She looked…different. She had just grown; he couldn't explain it. Perhaps he wouldn't notice the change as much if he had seen her every day of her life like he had Kelly, but seeing her so rarely was really forcing him to realize how fast children grew up.

"Memmie?" she said, stepping out a little. "Emmy?" she said.

She pointed to herself.

"Madeleine," Jenny said, apparently understanding immediately. "Madeleine, he called you a nickname. '_Maddie'_," she tried to explain.

Madeleine beamed at Jethro. He held out one hand.

"I miss you," he said.

Madeleine hid her face. She inched out from Jenny's knee and crept closer to him until she could touch his knee, and she smiled at him.

"Aba," she said, content.

Feeling it was acceptance enough, Gibbs picked her up and hugged her, placing a kiss on her forehead. Jenny picked up his bag and hauled it inside, shutting them in the airy, sunny little villa.

She pressed her hand to his lower back in welcome and smiled, tucking her hair back as she took his bag into a bedroom.

"She's finishing some apple slices," Jenny called. "She gets cinnamon sprinkled on them if she gives you the right sign for the picture on the flashcards."

Gibbs made a face in the direction of Jenny's voice.

"What has your mother got you doing?" he muttered suspiciously, glaring at all of the baby teaching tools Jenny had out on the table. He stared in horror at the materials that—well, that looked like were part of some sort of baby school for Madeleine.

He sat down at the table and Madeleine picked up an apple slice.

She handed it to him.

"Share," she said promptly.

He raised his eyebrows and took a bite, nodding.

"Toda," she said, sitting up in his lap and taking another apple slice. She munched on it, watching him. "Share!" she said again, pointing insistently at his half-eaten slice.

Jenny came in, tilting her head.

"What are you doing, Madeleine?" she asked, crinkling her nose.

"She's forcing food on me," Gibbs whined.

Jenny snuck up and crouched down, slipping her hands to the toddler's waist and tickling her gently. She pressed her wrinkled nose to the toddler's cheek and sighed happily, shaking her head back and forth playfully.

"Sharing is caring," she said, nodding her head. "Isn't that right, sugar?"

Madeleine picked up an apple slice and handed it to Jenny.

"Share," she said seriously.

She leaned back against Jethro's chest and watched Jenny solemnly, little green eyes piercing and trusting.

Jenny beamed and bit into the apple, finally able to relax.

* * *

><p>Gibbs wrinkled his nose in the salty sea air as a strong gust of wind blew through the back patio. He continued to rock the porch swing a little; the motion had soothed Madeleine to sleep and he wasn't keen on waking her.<p>

His arm dangled off the side of the armrest, holding an empty sippy cup.

He looked down at Madeleine, stroking her bangs back gently. She had fallen asleep on her back with her legs sprawled out on the chipped wood of the swing and her head in his lap. Both of her hands were stretched above her head and he was amused to watch her sleep in such a position.

But really, it was a relief that she was asleep. She had been so excited by all of the chaos that surrounded Jenny bringing her here, and then Gibbs showing up, that the first night had been a nightmare of troublesome child and the second day had been full of Gibbs trying to spoil her and Jenny trying to stop him.

If they had any luck, she'd sleep for hours and hours and he could spend some time with Jenny.

As if she'd heard his thoughts, the redhead in question opened the screen door and stepped out, making a face when she saw Madeleine was sleeping and closing the door more quietly. She tiptoed over and folded her arms, standing in front of Gibbs and Madeleine. She smiled.

"How did you do it?" she asked, cautiously sitting down next to him.

She lifted Madeleine's feet into her lap and scooted closer, her arm pressing into his. He lifted his and slipped it around her shoulder casually, shrugging. He held up the sippy-cup and wiggled it.

"Spiked apple juice," he joked.

Jenny snorted, giving it a wishful look.

"You know, it used to be acceptable to soak a pacifier in whiskey to get a baby to sleep through the night," she informed him.

"Hell, now you can't even spank 'em," he said, laughing.

Jenny smiled. She titled her head, watching him stroke Madeleine's forehead.

"Did you discipline Kelly that way? By spanking her?" she asked quietly, testing the waters.

He didn't answer for a moment, and then he shook his head.

"_I_ didn't," he answered gruffly. "Shannon did."

"So if I were to spank Madeleine—"

"Jen, c'mon," he interrupted, giving her a look. "I don't care," he insisted. "I know you won't hurt her. I didn't spank Kelly because I was ten times as strong as her. Shannon could do it without it hurting too much."

Jenny inclined her head.

"Makes sense," she murmured.

Gibbs glanced over at her, raising his eyebrows.

"Is she giving you problems?" he asked. "Misbehaving?"

Jenny shrugged.

"I mean, I don't think it's as much misbehavior as it is just her being curious and wanting to know about things. She doesn't like to be carried, so I have to watch her constantly, and she does give Tali problems when I have to leave her," Jenny sighed, reaching up to push her hair back. "I don't know. I'm worried she's not in a good environment."

Gibbs rubbed Jenny's shoulder, squeezing sympathetically.

"She's still really little, Jen," he said. "You're worrying too much."

Jenny frowned. She shrugged, and rested her hand over the baby's knees.

"I don't know, Jethro," was all she said, falling silent.

She slumped a little, leaning against him. She put her head on his shoulder and sighed, watching Madeleine sleep.

"I've talked to Eli about moving out of the complex," she said slowly, broaching the subject again. "I know Mossad is more protected, but it's so difficult to have her there. She's treated like a nuisance by most, and it's frustrating."

Jenny wrinkled her nose defensively.

"She's not a nuisance," she murmured defensively, pursing her lips.

Gibbs nodded, listening to her talk. He tapped his finger against the sippy cup, looking out over the beachfront view of the villa.

"He hates the idea, thinks I'll be impossible to contact or won't be readily available. But I'll be refocusing on NCIS in the upcoming months, so I can't see a problem—I think after she turns two," Jenny said. "I can afford an apartment in the upscale neighborhoods, and send her to a good Montessori school."

Gibbs snorted.

"Jen, she'll be in school all her life, you want to start her early?" he whined.

She elbowed him gently.

"They're good schools," she said. "She'll be socialized, and she needs that."

He looked back at her and nodded.

"Sounds good," he agreed slowly.

Jenny tilted her head up at him.

"You think?" she asked. "You have input, Jethro, you know that. If you think it's better that I keep her with me, or stay at Mossad—

"I don't like you living at Mossad," he said bluntly.

She lifted her eyebrows a little, taken aback at the admission. She had always known that, but he was usually pretty mum on the subject.

"You don't like Madeleine at Mossad," she corrected gently.

He shook his head.

"Her, or you," he growled. "I don't trust those guys."

"You hardly know any of them," Jenny defended, a little sharply. She lowered her head again, resting just on his collarbone. She swallowed and shrugged, keeping silent again. She didn't want to start a fight like the one they had had around Christmas.

"I'm just trying to think of what's best for her," Jenny said dejectedly after a moment. "Sometimes," she broke off, biting her lip.

"What?" he asked, when she failed to go on.

"Sometimes I wonder if it's better if she lives with you."

He shifted away and stared at her, blindsided.

"Jen, you're a good mother," he said in disbelief. "She needs you."

"And she doesn't need you?" Jenny asked, pulling away a little. "I had a very close relationship with my Dad when I was young, Jethro," she said earnestly. "It was all I had after my mom left."

He tilted his head at her, eyeing her intently. He didn't know what she wanted him to say. He hated this arrangement because he only saw his daughter three or so times a year, but he had never thought about taking her with him. He always thought about she and Jenny _both_ coming home with him.

"Jenny," he said, shaking his head a little. "It's less than ideal either way."

It was all he could come up with to say. She nodded, and looked down at the sleeping toddler, smiling halfheartedly. Jenny leaned over, kissed his cheek, and lay her head down on his shoulder again, closing her eyes. She took a deep breath and let it out, relaxing.

"I'm glad you could make it, Jethro," she said sincerely.

He turned and buried his nose in her hair.

"Me too," he muttered. He kissed the crown of her head and rubbed her shoulder again, breathing her in.

* * *

><p>Airports.<p>

It seemed as if they were always in one, saying goodbye.

Jenny had disappeared—to find some coffee, or take a call, or something. She had mumbled about it, but she had left Madeleine with Gibbs, and he was enjoying the last few minutes alone.

Madeleine peeked at him from underneath a sunny straw hat and giggled, baring her teeth at him playfully. She wriggled her fingers at the back of his neck and looked around, content to let him hold her. The crowded airport made her clingy, and it had taken a moment to calm her down after Jenny disappeared.

"Dada," she said suddenly.

She leaned back and tilted her head at him. She pointed her hands down. She made the sign for walking, and the sign for down, and squirmed.

He shook his head.

"Not a good idea, M," he said apologetically. "Too many people."

"Dada," she insisted, whining.

"Not safe," he said quietly.

She frowned and widened her eyes, accepting his words when he deemed it not safe. Still, she took it upon herself to pout and, thoroughly defeated by the adorable nature of it, Gibbs carried her over to a window in the corner and sat down, allowing her to set her feet on the ground as long as she stayed right at his knees.

Madeleine beamed. She looked out the window, pointing at the planes as they left.

"Fly," she said promptly, leaving out the 'l' so it sounded like 'fy'. She smiled and pulled her hat over her eyes, waving her arms in a flying motion.

"We're going to fly," Gibbs said, nodding. "You're going to fly with Mommy," he continued.

"Dada?" she asked, tearing her hat off and jumping into the air. She looked at him with interest, cocking her head. "Dada, fly?"

He shook his head, frowning a little.

"Daddy's flying somewhere else," he said, fixing her ruffled hair. "Daddy flies to DC, in America."

"Deeee-seeeeeee," she mused, not knowing what he meant. She wrapped her arms around his knee, looking around at all the people. Madeleine dropped her hat on the ground, and then moved her feet as if she were dancing.

She looked around again, and shrunk closer. She said the Hebrew words Jenny had taught her for 'not safe' and Gibbs picked her up, snuggling her up in his lap again. He leaned over, one arm secure around her waist, and picked up the hat, handing it to her.

"You know," he said seriously. "Your mother and I met here."

Madeleine looked at him, blinking. She smiled blithely, uncomprehending, but listening to him talk.

"Hmm," Gibbs said, frowning. "Not met," he amended. "Started...dating?" he tried. He growled again and glared playfully at his daughter. "Never mind, you're too young."

Madeleine giggled and pulled her straw hat up to her mouth. She murmured a string of nonsense at him and tilted her head, waiting for him to answer. She pursed her lip and glared at him, as if expecting him to say something.

"Your mother gives me that look sometimes," he said, pointing at her face.

She chomped her teeth at his finger and bit him gently.

"Jethro," Jenny said, laughing as she walked up. "What are you doing?"

She folded her arms, holding a plastic bag with a few snacks in it in her hand.

"Telling her about Marseille," he said seriously, pulling his finger away.

Jenny gave him a look, reaching out for Madeleine.

"You're lying," she decided, hardly able to believe that Jethro would regale their almost-two-year-old with stories of a steamy attic on the coast. "Our flight is boarding," she said, coaxing Madeleine to her.

Gibbs helped Madeleine stand up and handed her off to Jenny, first kissing her cheek and waving at her solemnly.

"Say goodbye to Daddy, Madeleine," Jenny said.

Madeleine twisted and waved at him, ignoring Jenny as Jenny tried to give the straw hat back to the toddler.

"Fly," she said seriously. She finally took the straw hat and handed it to Jethro, making a sign for the word _present_.

Gibbs looked at it and stood up, smirking. He ruffled her hair.

"Thanks, honey," he said quietly, pressing his lips to her head again.

Jenny smiled at him, her eyes a little untouched. She lifted her shoulders.

"See you in August," she said half-heartedly. She hated this part. He nodded, and leaned forward, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"G'bye, Jen," he murmured, kissing her lips quickly, and then resting his chin on her head for a moment. She appreciated the hug until she heard her flight back to Israel called again, and then she wriggled away.

Gibbs sat back down to wait for his flight and watched her go; somewhat satisfied that Madeleine's miniature straw hat was his souvenir.

* * *

><p>It was always the same routine after he returned to NCIS from a visit with Madeleine—he was content for a day or so, still pleased that he had seen his daughter—on a high, in other words—and then he reverted back to annoyed, frustrated, and dissatisfied that he couldn't see her whenever he wanted to.<p>

This time he had to fend off questions from Abby and DiNozzo, as he'd left the country so quickly they had barely realized what had happened until he was back. Usually, he gave them more warning, and they were subtler about questions.

This time, they bombarded him—and even Ducky was concerned.

"Jethro, is everything alright?" the medical examiner asked, wringing his hands as he delivered an autopsy report. There was no one else in the bullpen, but he still spoke softly. "You disappeared rather quickly, I wondered if something—"

Gibbs shook his head.

"It's fine, Duck," he said.

Ducky sighed.

"I worried Madeleine had taken ill," he said. "Or perhaps Jennifer was hurt?"

"They're fine, Duck," Gibbs said again. "Appreciate the concern," he went on, nodding curtly and putting the file away with the case it went with. He gave his friend a small smile. Ducky nodded, accepting Gibbs' answer.

"Where were you off to these past few days?"

"Short notice vacation," Gibbs said gruffly. He paused. "Marseille," he said after a moment.

Ducky raised his eyebrows. He snorted and pointed at Jethro warningly.

"You be careful, Jethro," he warned paternally. "I would think one unintended lovechild is enough for the both of you."

* * *

><p>"Jenny," Tali David said, poking her head into the nursery. She crept in when she noticed that both Jenny and the toddler were awake.<p>

Madeleine was playing intently with brightly coloured ponies, and Jenny was curled in the window seat, examining some NCIS documents with her eyes squinted in concentration. She looked up when Tali tiptoed in.

"Tali," she greeted, looking back down at her documents.

"Do you have a moment?" Tali asked.

Jenny nodded. She gestured around, indicating that Tali could sit down. Tali chose to sit on the floor, and confidently picked up Madeleine and placed the toddler in her lap. Madeleine looked up at her with a wave, and a smile, and then nonchalantly went back to entertaining herself.

"What is it?" Jenny asked.

"Well, I am almost finished with my formal schooling," Tali began. "And I will be expected to choose between Mossad and University in the upcoming year or so."

Jenny nodded. She knew this; Ziva mentioned it often. Ziva didn't elaborate much on the subject, but it was clear to Jenny that the eldest David sister did not want Tali to commit to Mossad. Eli David was a different story.

"You're already part of Mossad," Jenny said, looking up. "What is it exactly you are choosing?"

Tali began occupying her hands with some of Madeleine's toys.

"It is complicated," she said. "Ziva and I, we have been part of Mossad since our birth—it is why our mother took us away from Aba. She wanted to keep us from this. When she died, we of course came here—by then Aba was the Director."

Tali stopped and tilted her head, biting her lip and looking over at Jenny. She furrowed her brow.

"He trained us to keep us alive. He also educated us. If I go to school, then I will be exempt from my compulsory IDF service. Ziva chose service, but I do not know if the military is for me."

"Ziva says you have compassion," Jenny remarked, leaning back and taking a break from her documents. She glanced at Madeleine to make sure she wasn't trying to break and/or eat any of her toys.

"Ziva does not want me to remain in Mossad," Tali murmured. "But I do not know. Mossad is my blood."

Jenny frowned.

"What is it that's got you so conflicted?"

Tali sighed, and pushed her hair back.

"It is that—it is not that I want to go to school that bothers me," she said hesitantly. "My father…I do not think my father would oppose that so very much. But," she frowned, and then plowed on. "But it is that…I wish to go to school in the United States."

Jenny raised her eyebrows.

"Really?" she asked, interested.

Tali nodded earnestly.

"I have already taken the testing requirements," she said, lifting her shoulders. "I achieved fairly adequate scores. But I think Aba will think that I am abandoning my home."

Jenny studied Tali for a moment.

"Why do you want to go to America?" she asked.

"Because," Tali said softly. "Because I want to explore other options. I want to get away from this fighting violence with violence. I have grown up using brutality, and I see that it is necessary, but I want to live to see something better," she bit her lip. "Jenny, I do not feel like I will live here. I want to have children and a safe home."

Jenny looked at Madeleine, her eyes glossing over a little while she thought about what Tali said. She understood—and she thought that was why Tali had come to her. She frowned to herself, trying to find something to say to the teenager.

She raised her eyes.

"What do you want to study?" she asked.

Tali smiled.

"Pediatrics," she replied, hugging Madeleine gently. "I want to work with the UN, or with an NGO," Tali explained. She bit her lip. "I would like to work in the West Bank, or Gaza, to show Palestine that we can work together. Mossad has given up all hope of that."

Jenny smiled.

"Where do you want to go?" she asked.

Tali's eyes lit up.

"I think Vanderbilt University," she said. "There is a wonderful children's hospital there. Or Johns Hopkins—well, for medical school. Perhaps New York for undergraduate? Or even Washington," she murmured.

"Do you want my opinion?" Jenny asked.

"I came to you for a reason," Tali answered.

Jenny sighed.

"Your father will kill me," she muttered, leaning forward on her knees. "Tali, you should go," she advised quietly. "People are needed to fight all fronts of this war, and you are more suited for the peace aspect of it. You can do so much."

Tali smiled. She brushed Madeleine's hair back and nodded, falling silent. Jenny watched the young girl think and picked her files back up, hoping she could help. She found it hard to return to working, however—she was busy thinking about Madeleine's future.

"Jenny," Tali said after a moment.

"Hmm?"

"Can you ask Agent Gibbs to bring some information on universities on his next visit? Perhaps some applications as well?"

Jenny looked at Tali fondly.

"Of course," she agreed warmly.

"Thank you," Tali mumbled, leaning forward to kiss Madeleine's cheek.

Madeleine rubbed her cheek, as if erasing the kiss, and giggled wickedly, crinkling her nose at Tali.

"What is this?" asked Tali, in mock offense. She slipped into Hebrew, more comfortable in the language. Jenny returned to her NCIS work, now only half-focused. She listened to Tali and Madeleine interact, thinking about all of the insecurities she had about Madeleine's environment and the instability that surrounded her.

* * *

><p>Tony DiNozzo stared, slack-jawed, at Ducky as the ME rambled on and on about something that happened in Scotland two hundred years ago. He listened because he assumed at some point in this story there was something relevant to the dead marine on the table. Not to mention the last time he had interrupted Ducky, Gibbs had slapped him.<p>

Gibbs wasn't here right now, but Tony was still afraid of him.

"I think what Ducky is trying to say is that he was strangled," Abby Sciuto piped up with a giggle, beaming fondly at Ducky.

Tony glared at her. Oh, of course, the precious lab rat was allowed to interrupt Ducky. Just because she was cute and innocent and Gibbs had some sort of fetish for her.

"Of course he was strangled, that's what I've been saying!" Ducky said, as if it were obvious.

Tony furrowed her brow. It appeared Ducky was genuinely unaware that he had not, in fact, been talking about strangulation—but instead a game of golf Mary, Queen of Scots was said to have won.

Abby giggled. She leaned back against an autopsy table.

"Where is Gibbs?" Ducky asked, eyeing a part of the dead marine's arm and frowning.

"Sulking," Tony answered moodily.

Ducky raised his eyebrows and looked at the young agent.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked.

"He went home to his boat," Tony clarified. "You know how he gets when we hit a roadblock in a case. He sulks, and gets all mean."

Abby laughed.

"I don't think you should let him hear you say he _sulks_, Tony!" she said brightly. "He just cares about his job."

"So do I, but I don't pitch a hissy fit if we can't find a suspect right away," grumbled Tony.

"Aww," cooed Abby. "Has Gibbs been being extra-mean to little Tony?" she cooed mockingly, tilting a pig-tailed head at him.

He glared at her.

He huffed.

"I think we need to get Gibbs a girl," he announced loudly.

Ducky turned away from the body and smiled, shaking his head.

"A girl?" Abby asked, perking up.

Tony nodded.

"He needs to get laid. Or get married again. Something. We should hook him up with someone—hey, what about that hot girl in legal, she's about his age, right?"

"Are you talking about Skyler? Because she's definitely in her early thirties. Too young," Abby said, waving her hand.

"Yeah, but I think Gibbs is kinda into the dirty thirties thing…"

Abby snickered.

"I think his wives were all near his age," she said. "Besides, Tony," Abby began, frowning a little. "I think Gibbs has someone."

Tony perked up, zoning in on Abby eagerly.

"Really?" he asked, excited by the gossip enough to rival a teenage girl. "What do you know?"

Abby shrugged.

"I don't know anything," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "And I wouldn't tell you if I did. I just think he's got a girlfriend or something," she explained. "He stays late and talks to her on the phone."

"How do you know?" probed Tony, inching closer.

Ducky made a loud noise over by the liver scales. He cleared his throat. He shook his head fondly. Gibbs might need to be warned that Abby was zeroing in on his secret.

Abby shrugged again.

"The way he talks to whoever it is," she said cryptically.

Tony made a frustrated noise. He snapped his fingers.

"I bet that's where he disappears to all the time. To see his lady," he grinned, his eyes narrowing. "Maybe she's married," he said wickedly.

Ducky laughed, shaking his head.

"You two," he said seriously, giving them looks. "Gibbs' ears must be burning," he warned. "You had better watch your gossip."

* * *

><p>Gibbs handed off the newest batch of pictures to Noemi as he picked up the phone, listening to what Jenny was saying intently. He smiled as Noemi cooed over the pictures and poured another cup of coffee, blinking tiredly.<p>

It had been a long week, full of an un-crackable case.

"How long?" he asked.

"I'll be in London for two days, and then Dublin for four," she explained.

Gibbs rubbed his forehead.

"That's almost a week, Jen," he said apprehensively.

She had to leave Israel for NCIS work, and couldn't feasibly take Madeleine with her. There would be no one to watch the toddler, and Jenny wouldn't have time. She had called to run an idea that neither of them liked by him.

"I know," she said quietly. "I considered flying Noemi out here to stay with her, but it's impossible. I can't leave Madeleine with someone who's a stranger to her, and Noemi isn't even _close_ to vetted."

"Tali isn't even eighteen," Gibbs said gruffly.

"She's very mature," Jenny defended.

"Yeah," he agreed cautiously. "Yeah, I know." He frowned. He liked Tali, but he still didn't know how he felt about this. He didn't see any other option. He was in the middle of three or four cases right now and he couldn't fly out there.

"You could send her here," he suggested.

"She's not even two, I can't fly her to you!"

"Not alone. Send her with Tali," he amended.

Jenny sighed.

"Maybe," she began slowly. "No, it won't work. Eli won't let her leave. I don't know about that anyway. You don't want her left with Tali, but you'd trust Tali to get her halfway across the world? Tali's never been to the States."

Gibbs swore under his breath. She was right. He took a drink of coffee.

"What about Ziva?" he asked gruffly.

"She won't do it," Jenny said dryly. "She doesn't interact with Madeleine, Jethro. I'd be more comfortable with Tali."

Gibbs didn't say anything.

"You know," began Jenny slowly. "Jethro, you know Haswari isn't here anymore. He's not in Israel, if that's what's bothering you."

"He's not?" asked Gibbs suspiciously.

She answered in the negative.

"Where is he?"

"You should know better than to ask," Jenny reprimanded. "I'm not even exactly sure. Ziva and Eli know, and only them."

He nodded to himself.

"Tali's the only option?" he clarified.

"I'm afraid so," Jenny answered.

He sighed, resigned.

"How is it going to work?"

"Tali is going to keep her at Ziva's apartment," Jenny explained. "They won't be at Mossad very much. Tali is studying for some final exams, so she's not required to work."

"Ziva doesn't live at the Complex?" Gibbs asked.

"It depends on what kind of work she's doing," Jenny answered. "She keeps an apartment in the city."

Gibbs tensed.

"The city?" he said, bristling. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"I live in Israel," Jenny said bluntly. "Everywhere is dangerous. Jethro, I wouldn't put Madeleine in an unsafe environment," she continued defensively. Her tone was sharp.

"Then why even ask me?" he asked aggressively, glaring at nothing in particular.

"Next time I won't," she fired back pointedly, annoyance creeping into her voice. "I could leave her with Eli, Jethro, he offered," she threatened.

Gibbs restrained himself from shouting at her.

"Absolutely not," he forbade in a growl. "Jen—"

"I wouldn't," she said testily.

"Don't use her to threaten me," Gibbs snapped.

"I didn't-!" Jenny sounded outraged. "Dammit, Jethro," she swore. "You're insufferable. You—" she broke off. "Are you okay with her staying with Tali or not?" she asked shortly.

"It's fine," he said tensely. "Fine."

"I'll tell Tali to call you," Jenny said.

"_I'll_ call _her_," he corrected firmly. He was going to call that girl every damn day, even if he liked her and trusted her.

Jenny muttered at him under her breath.

"You'll do whatever the hell you want," she snapped at him pettily.

He set his coffee cup down loudly.

"Because you think of people other than _yourself_ so much, Jen," he barked at her bitterly.

Noemi looked up, looking nervous. He turned away from her.

Jenny made a noise on the other end of the line. She knew he was talking about Paris; she knew without him even saying the words. She stayed very quiet, almost long enough to make him break the silence.

"You're a bastard," she said shakily, her voice cracking. She caught her breath, and it sounded like she was composing herself. "I'll call when I get back," she said, holding the phone away from her mouth.

She hung up and he swore again, slamming the phone down on the counter.

Noemi jumped, and Gibbs stared into his coffee cup, regretting his words.

* * *

><p>The fourth time Jenny called the apartment, Tali answered the phone—and Jenny, finally, let out a breath of relief.<p>

"Tali David," she said in a rush.

"Shalom, Jenny," Tali said in rapid Hebrew. She sounded breathless, and she giggled. "You sound stressed."

Jenny switched to Hebrew so Tali would be easier to talk to.

"Where have you been?" she asked. "I've been calling."

"I apologize," Tali said. "I have had the little one at the park all day, and we had lunch with my father. Everything is okay; I did not mean to worry you!"

Jenny sighed, her hand shaking. She rubbed her forehead. It was cold in her Dublin hotel room; the air conditioning was on full blast and a central hub controlled it; she could do nothing about it.

"I was worried," she said sincerely. "Would you drop me an e-mail if you're going to be out for the day?" she requested edgily.

"Of course," Tali said, sobering up. "But you will be back day after tomorrow, yes?"

"_Ken_," Jenny agreed tiredly. She curled up on her side, covering herself with blankets. She heard childish giggling in the background, and Tali laughed loudly, holding the phone away for a moment.

Jenny's head hurt. She had hardly had any sleep since leaving Israel. She had barely had a moment to speak with Tali or Madeleine, and she hadn't talked to Jethro since their ill-fated phone conversation.

The last time she had been away from Madeleine this long, the toddler had been a newborn—and Jenny did not remember it being this painful. But then, there was a lot that was fuzzy when it came to the first weeks surrounding Madeleine's birth.

"I can hear her," Jenny said.

"Oh yes," Tali laughed. "She is very excited. We just finished a bath. She is wearing her little robe with the puppy-dog hood. Running around like a puppy, in fact!"

Jenny smiled.

"Everything is well, then?"

"Very well," Tali agreed. "I spoke to Agent Gibbs today—well, twice. He calls me very much, you see," Tali explained. "It is funny. He is a-what is the phrase, a basketbox? I do not think he likes me watching her."

Jenny wrinkled her nose, snickering.

"It's _basketcase_," she corrected. "You should tell him that."

"I did. He did not like it, but he still called again."

"Did Madeleine talk to him?"

"Yes, a little. She was distracted, though—and the second time she was in the bath. I think she only understands when she sees him."

Jenny murmured incoherently.

"Let me talk to her," she said.

"Yes, of course," Tali said. She switched to English. "Madeleine, come darling. Your Mama wants to talk to you."

Jenny heard quite a bit of scuffling, and then a loud, childish gasp.

"Ima?" asked Madeleine excitedly. "Imaaaaaaaaaaa?" she cried impatiently.

"Yes, Madeleine, it's me," Jenny replied, raising her voice. It relaxed her to hear Madeleine sounding so content and healthy. Madeleine babbled something. "Slow down, ahuva," Jenny soothed. "English," she added.

"Mama," said Madeleine promptly. "Bath," she informed Jenny.

"Oh, are you taking a bath?"

"No," Madeleine said. "Bye-bye bath."

"You're done with the bath," translated Jenny, to show she understood. "You must be all sparkly clean!"

Madeleine giggled.

"Yes, Mama," she agreed.

"Are you having fun with Tali, Madeleine?" Jenny asked. "You're behaving for her, right, young lady?"

"Mmmhmm," Madeleine agreed. "Love Tah," she said. She never finished Tali's name; she shortened it to "Tah".

"I'm sure she loves hearing that," Jenny said with a laugh. "I miss you, baby," she said seriously, sighing.

"Yes," said Madeleine, sounding distracted. She was no doubt getting bored with the conversation. She wriggled. "Down," Jenny heard her whine.

Jenny smiled and yawned, conceding defeat.

"I'll be home soon, okay? I love you," she said.

"Bye-bye, Ima!" Madeleine cried.

A few moments later, Tali was on the phone again.

"She did not like sitting on the counter," Tali said, speaking Hebrew once more. "I do not know how I will calm her down for bed!"

"Don't worry about bed time too strictly," Jenny said. "Our hours are funky anyway."

"I will try to keep her nocturnal for you," Tali said with a giggle. "We will see you soon, Jenny!"

Jenny murmured a goodbye, hung up, and buried her face in a pillow. Alone, and still freezing her ass off, in the Dublin hotel room, she sighed. It was just one of those days when she felt unsatisfied, like she'd made all the wrong choices.

* * *

><p>Gibbs grinned as he listened to Madeleine singing. He could hear Jenny clapping and encouraging her in the background, and he pressed the phone tightly to his ears, taking a break from sanding his latest project.<p>

He crossed his arms, holding his phone with his shoulder, and holding a mason jar of bourbon.

After a moment, Madeleine finished, and Jenny squealed. He could hear her kissing Madeleine, and laughed, nodding to himself.

"Good job," he complimented seriously. "I'm impressed, Maddie!"

Jenny snickered.

"I can't believe she can do it!" she gushed into the phone. "It's relatively unusual for her age—but she has the whole thing down, she just started one day! After listening to the song!"

Gibbs took a sip, stewing in a considerable amount of fatherly proud. It was a good boost for his ego to hear Madeleine singing the ABC's through the phone. He had a smart kid.

"She's good, Jen."

"She's a genius," said Jenny seriously. She laughed. "Oh, God, don't let me turn into one of those mothers. She's not a genius," Jenny tried to remind herself. "All children have their smart moments."

"She's a genius," Gibbs said seriously, glaring as if Jenny were right there.

"Jethro, she ran into a table yesterday."

"Who put the table in her way?" Gibbs retorted.

Jenny laughed. She had called him in a very good mood, and he could hardly complain about it. It was nice; soothing. He hadn't heard from her in about a month, which meant he'd really been hurting for contact. Until tonight, he'd thought he was going to just have to suck it up until August.

"Did it hurt her?" he asked.

"Oh, she cried a little," Jenny said. "But Eli gave her a cookie. She forgot she was hurt pretty quickly."

"Eli?" asked Gibbs.

"I was in a meeting with him. She was running around exploring, and ran into his coffee table."

"He lets her in the office?"

"He knows you don't like her left with others," Jenny said cautiously. "Eli likes children, in his own way."

Gibbs nodded.

"Give it a kiss for me," he said.

Jenny snickered.

"Sure, Jethro," she agreed. She sighed, and it sounded like she sat down, or relaxed or something. She took a deep breath. "Did you get our Father's Day card?" she asked lightly.

"Yeah," Gibbs answered.

Jenny snorted.

"You throw it away?" she asked skeptically. During their relationship, she had seen Jethro throw numerous birthday cards away, regardless of whom they came from—sometimes without reading them, but then again, _that_ one had come from Diane.

"No," he growled, offended that she would think so.

"Oh?" Jenny provoked smugly. "What _did_ you do with it? I made it sappy and gross on purpose to mock you."

"Put it with my other Father's day cards, Jen," he said simply.

"Ah," she said carefully. "Where's that?"

"A box," he said cryptically.

She made a quiet noise. They sat in silence for a moment, and Gibbs looked over at the drawer the stuff was in. Father's Day, Christmas, and Valentine's Day cards from Kelly—and now, some drawings and cards from Madeleine.

He took another drink of bourbon.

"I talked to Ducky yesterday," Jenny said after a moment. "He says you still don't have a third team member."

Gibbs grumbled at her.

"Jethro, don't you think you'd be able to see her more if you hired someone?" Jenny asked.

"Nah, I'd have to train the new guy," he said.

"What about DiNozzo?"

"Jen, that would be like asking Maddie to teach Ziva English."

Jenny laughed.

"You don't have a lot of confidence in this DiNozzo."

"He's a dunce."

"You're acting like a child," Jenny pointed out.

"He's in the job for the women," Gibbs said darkly.

"How unprofessional," Jenny said primly. "I can't imagine an NCIS agent having the nerve to think about sleeping with someone on the job. That would be almost as unprofessional as—why, having a baby—"

"Point taken," Gibbs interrupted loudly, smirking. "Where'd she go, I can't hear her anymore."

"She's playing with a doll," Jenny related. "I think she's punishing it, because it's getting swatted on the knuckles."

Jenny snickered, and pulled the phone away from her ear.

"Madeleine, what are you doing to the baby? What's wrong?" she asked playfully.

"Bad," Gibbs heard Madeleine answer. "Bad Tee."

"'Tee'?" asked Gibbs.

"She named the doll after Ziva. I think. I mean, she calls it Tee; she calls Ziva 'Tee'."

"How's Ziva feel about that?"

"She pretends she doesn't notice," Jenny answered. "But she likes it," she added wickedly. Jenny sighed again. "Okay, Jethro," she said. "She's off to bed. You want to say goodnight?"

"Yeah," he said. Wasn't the answer to that obvious?

"Come here, Madeleine," Jenny said lightly. "Your flight comes in pretty late on the thirty-first, right?" Jenny asked absently.

"Nine," he answered.

"Ziva's picking you up," Jenny said. "Say 'night' to Daddy," Jenny said, raising her voice softly.

"Night," came Madeleine's voice obediently.

"Say you'll see him in seventeen days," Jenny coaxed.

Madeleine mumbled, and Jenny laughed.

"See you in seventeen days," she said, speaking for all three of them.

* * *

><p><strong>August 2002<strong>

His flight was delayed, and he got into Tel Aviv's airport well past two a.m.

Entering the terminal, he came cross a very rare sight: Ziva David, asleep.

It was easy to tell that it was not a light, watchful Mossad-officer sleep—it was a legitimate, deep, slightly funny sleep. She was sprawled out over four chairs, using one of her boots as a pillow.

Gibbs smirked. He walked over to her and stood over her menacingly until she opened an eye dangerously. She stared at him a moment, and then relaxed, recognizing who he was.

"You were really asleep," he said.

"It is two in the morning," she grumbled, sitting up and stretching in a catlike way.

"I delayed my flight to catch you sleeping," he said seriously.

She stood up, eyeing him suspiciously, and propped up her foot on a chair to lace her combat boot back on.

"You are being funny," she decided.

He nodded, smirking.

"Notice that I am not laughing," Ziva growled, reaching up to pin her hair high on her head in a twisty sort of mess. She beckoned to him, taking care keys out of her pocket. "How was your flight?"

"Long," he answered cryptically.

She looked over her shoulder at him.

"Something I suspect you are used to," she said. "You know it is now Madeleine's birthday," she said.

"I know," he said. "You store her present for me?"

Ziva nodded curtly.

"Tali tested it for her," she said, and though her back was turned, Gibbs detected a hint of a smile. "She quite enjoyed it."

Ziva looked over her shoulder again, and smirked.

"If Madeleine likes it even half as much, she will be one content child."

* * *

><p>As he expected, Jenny's suite was completely dark and she and Madeleine were both fast asleep when he came in. To minimize noise, he dropped his things in the parlor and went straight to the nursery, creeping in to check on the baby.<p>

He didn't want to wake her; he knew he would scare her if he did because she wouldn't recognize him as her father in the dark, especially if he startled her into consciousness. He made sure she was breathing, and watched her while his eyes adjusted, appreciating her. Very gently, he rested his hand on her back and rubbed lightly.

"Happy Birthday, Princess," he mumbled gruffly, slipping back out of the room quietly.

He considered crashing on the couch so he wouldn't unnecessarily wake Jenny, but he was tired and sore from the long, cramped plane ride—and he really just wanted to crawl into bed with her. He decided to be selfish, and went into her room.

He pulled back the covers a little and hissed her name.

"Jen," he said softly. "Jenny," he said a little louder, sitting next to her and touching her shoulder. "It's me," he muttered. "Don't freak out."

She mumbled something, turning her head towards him, and opened her eyes briefly, struggling to look at him through a haze of fatigue.

"Bed," she mumbled incoherently, squinting at him. "Where have you been?" she slurred, totally out of it. He'd obviously woken her from a deep sleep. "Jethro," she moaned, turning towards him and tugging on his arm sleepily. She yawned heavily and closed her eyes. "I miss you," she said, keeping hold on his arm.

He lay down next to her, kicking off his shoes deftly, still completely dressed. She rolled into him, snuggling up absently. Her forehead fell heavily against his chest and he kissed the crown of her head, closing his eyes.

"I love you," Jenny mumbled inarticulately her eyes closed.

He opened his eyes and stared at her. She didn't move, though she yawned again, half-asleep—or completely asleep again, he didn't know. He waited for her to say something else, but she just started to breathe evenly. He stared at her anyway, resigning himself to getting no sleep tonight after all.

* * *

><p>Jenny smiled slyly as she carried a wide-awake two-year-old into her bedroom and promptly plopped her down on Jethro, waiting patiently for the excited toddler to pounce her father awake. Madeleine, never one to disappoint, leapt at Jethro—pleased to be allowed, for once, to play her favorite game of wake-up-the-sleeping-adult.<p>

Slightly startled, Jethro's eyes flew open and he reached out, stopping when he realized it was just Madeleine. He broke into a smile almost immediately and sat up, his clothing a wrinkled mess. Blinking groggily, he smiled and held out his hands.

"Morning," he greeted, his voice thick with sleep.

Madeleine giggled and walked forward, placing her hands in his.

"_Bokah tov_!" she piped up sweetly. 'Good Morning', in a baby-talk form of Hebrew. She beamed at Jethro and looked over at Jenny for instructions. Jenny tapped her cheek and puckered her lips, making a kissing noise.

"'Hello, Daddy'," she instructed patiently.

Madeleine looked at Jethro hesitantly and then came forward, placing a timid kiss on his cheek. She looked at him bashfully through soft eyelashes and wrinkled her nose.

"Hello, Aba," she repeated obediently.

Gibbs smiled. He pulled her into a hug, focusing on Jenny for the first time. She raised her eyebrows at him, pleased, and tilted her head, watching Madeleine participate in the hug. Gibbs blinked, still trying to figure out if Jenny was aware of what she had sleepily said last night.

He figured no, or she would be acting much less social—and she would probably be avoiding him.

He let Madeleine go and smiled at her warmly.

Jenny reached over and stroked their daughter's hair back, wrinkling her nose fondly.

"Isn't that a nice present, _ahuva_?" she asked gently. "Waking up to Daddy?"

Madeleine laughed and sat down.

"Daddy," she said, pointing bashfully at Jethro.

He snorted and leaned forward, drawing his knees up. He studied her. Pictures weren't good enough for him to keep up; he felt like she had grown up so much since the last time he saw her. Her hair was wispy and the ends were curling near her neck. Her eyes seemed an even fiercer green than before, and she was losing some of her baby fat.

"Happy Birthday, M," he said, smiling at her.

Jenny stood up.

"Get Daddy up, Miss Thang," she said promptly. "Mommy made breakfast."

"What?" Jethro asked warily, eyeing Jenny apprehensively. "Are we supposed to eat it?"

She grabbed a pillow and whacked him in the head with it.

"I can cook now," she said seriously. "I don't like others feeding my child."

"Hmpf," Jethro said gruffly, watching Jenny leave the room. He swung his legs out of bed and picked Madeleine up, pushing thoughts of last night, and Jenny's sleepy confession, to the back of his mind for now.

He looked at Madeleine skeptically, situating her on his hip.

"Your mother, _cooking_," he scoffed. "We'll see."

* * *

><p>Jenny swept Madeleine into the nursery gallantly, carrying the giggling child in a sitting position.<p>

The toddler had brushed teeth, combed hair, and was comfortably snuggled into a summery nightshirt with some Disney character plastered all over it. Jenny wiggled her eyebrows at Madeleine when she spotted Jethro sitting casually in the window seat, an object covered with a sheet in front of him.

"What's he got?" Jenny asked Madeleine, suspenseful, perching on the edge of the rocking chair stool. She let Madeleine stand on her own, and took her shoulder, pointing at Jethro eagerly. "What's he got Madeleine? Is that for you?"

Jenny smirked at Jethro over the toddler's head.

"I do not know how you managed to bring her something so big without me seeing," she said skeptically.

"Didn't bring it," he answered. "Shipped it. Two weeks ago, to Ziva."

"Well," Jenny said, stroking Madeleine's hair. "We are impressed, aren't we?" she tickled the child's sides and nudged her towards Jethro. "We want to see what it is. Go see, baby," she encouraged.

Madeleine scampered towards Jethro hesitantly, putting her thumb in her mouth. He beckoned to her, taking her free hand and putting it near the sheet.

"Unwrap it," he said, nodding. "All yours, M," he continued.

Madeleine looked at the sheathed object in wonder and pulled her hand away, looking at Gibbs uncertainly. He took her hand and held it in his, helping her to pull the sheet off in one fell swoop.

Jenny covered her mouth, widening her eyes in surprise, when the motion revealed a wooden rocking horse, complete with colourful mane, tail, and Madeleine's full name carved and painted on the wedges.

"Oh my god," Jenny said, lowering her hands. "Jethro, did you make her that?" she asked, pressing a hand to her chest.

He glanced at her and nodded, focusing on Madeleine.

The little girl touched the rocking horse's mane and pulled her thumb from her mouth, pointing at the wooden masterpiece.

"Rabbit!" she cried, clapping her hands together. Her word was immature, and it sounded like a 'w' instead of an 'r'. She jumped up unsteadily. "Rabbit!" she said again, looking around insistently.

"No, no, Madeleine, it's a horse," Jenny began to correct, but Gibbs shook his head.

"She's got it," he said seriously.

Madeleine turned to Jenny and made the sign for _book_. Jenny looked confused, and Gibbs reached behind him to retrieve the other part of his gift; a velvet-soft, rich brown, stuffed bunny.

It took Jenny a moment to understand that the two objects were related to _The Velveteen Rabbit_, the book Jethro had read on tape to Madeleine from her infancy.

Jenny sat back, staring at the two of them.

Madeleine took the rabbit and hugged it, burying her face in it. She plopped down and then snuggled the rabbit close, reaching out to push on the wedges to make the horse rock. She did so a few times, eyes wide with delight.

"Dada," she cried, looking at him with shining eyes. "Rabbit!" she said again, and made the _book_ sign with her hand again.

"Come here," Gibbs said. "You want to ride it, M?" he asked, holding his arms out. "Come here, I'll hold you," he promised, lifting her up.

She squealed, clinging to him for a minute. He placed her on the horse and placed her hands on the handles, his palms swallowing hers up. He rocked her a little and she screamed, her face breaking into a smile.

Jenny pushed her hair back shakily, biting her cheek on the inside. She really did not want to be _that_ woman who became emotional over trivial little things—but watching Jethro help Madeleine play on the rocking horse—she couldn't help it.

She stood up abruptly.

He glanced up, and did a double take.

"Jen," he asked, concerned. "You oaky?"

"Yes," she said, her voice constricted. "It's—It's a very nice gift, Jethro," she said seriously, pressing her fingers to her lips. She gave up trying not to cry and smiled, rolling her eyes. "Sorry," she apologized half-heartedly.

He looked embarrassed.

"Ah, Jen," he said gruffly. "It's nothing," he brushed it off, shrugging his shoulders.

She smiled, and went over to the changing table, opening a drawer. She pulled out the camera he'd given her last Christmas and leaned against the table, taking a few quiet, casual pictures. She lowered the camera when he noticed she was doing it, and he glared at her. She just smirked weakly.

She felt a little triumphant that both he and Madeleine were smiling in the photos, and she refused to be shamed by him into putting the camera down. Jenny tilted her head, tapping her thumb idly against the _capture_ button.

After two years, this was starting to feel at least a _little_ normal.

* * *

><p>It was a damn good thing his visit in August had been fulfilling, because all hell broke loose when he got back. NCIS lost a few agents to retirement, termination—various things that left the DC office shorthanded, though the caseload increased.<p>

At the same time, US involvement in Afghanistan became increasingly heated, and Mossad became almost unreachable for a while. After his return in the early week of August, the first time Gibbs spoke to Jenny was the first anniversary of September eleventh.

She sounded stressed, and he was pressed for time.

He heard her drop something.

"Take a break, Jen," he warned. "Take it easy."

"I'm trying to pack," she said shortly. "I've got a meeting in fifteen minutes and I was running an op for six hours this morning. I haven't seen my daughter awake in two days," she growled.

He could feel her glaring at his placation through the phone, and backed off.

"Packing for what?" he asked.

"I got the apartment," she said. "I forgot we hadn't spoken—I went ahead and rented it, had it vetted, secured, et cetera. I'm moving in about two weeks."

Gibbs nodded, downing the last of his bad office coffee. She had seemed pretty set on the idea when he'd left after Madeleine's birthday.

"I've been looking into daycares, too, and a nanny," she said. "I won't make any decisions before I ask you," she went on. "Though I wish I could just send for Noemi," Jenny muttered distractedly.

"Can't you?" Gibbs asked.

"I wouldn't do that," Jenny sighed. "Washington is her home. She has a son in college. I won't take her away from that; she's been so good to me." Jenny made a frustrated noise. "I give up. Why the hell did I buy her so many clothes?"

Gibbs snorted. He smirked, standing up from his desk as DiNozzo walked in.

"Got to go, Jen," he said, throwing his coffee cup away. He felt bad, cutting the conversation short, and he was disappointed that he hadn't spoken of Madeleine—but he hoped she felt a little better, venting for a good half an hour.

"Yeah," she muttered. "One of us always does," she growled. She sighed. "I'll e-mail you some information on nannies," she said with finality.

He closed the conversation and hung up, giving DiNozzo a dangerous glare when the younger man looked as if he would inquire. DiNozzo held up his hands and grinned dashingly, shrugging silently.

"I found something, Boss…"

* * *

><p>Jenny felt awful, but she'd spent the past week trying to suck it up—and now it was all crashing down on her. She was sick, Madeleine was running a fever and coughing and all kinds of flu-ish symptoms, and Jenny was trying to soothe her while she carried her into the pediatrician's office.<p>

She had refrained from running to a doctor for a day or two, but the fever had hardly broken, and Madeleine was miserable—and a sick Jenny could hardly handle a sick baby, so she went for help. She didn't know if it was the Flu or Strep Throat, or just a cold, but she had the two-year-old bundled up anyway.

It wasn't horribly cold in Israel in October, but she wasn't taking any chances.

She checked in and sat down with Madeleine, humming softly to her while she tried to ignore the headache she was getting from both her lack of sleep and her daughter's constant fussing.

"We'll get you some medicine, baby," she soothed, her voice congested.

She leaned back, holding Madeleine's head to her chest.

This was a time when she really _hated_ that she was the only parent around.

* * *

><p>"Is she okay?" Jethro asked, his voice heavy with concern.<p>

Jenny nodded, exhausted.

She rocked Madeleine gently, relieved to have her asleep.

"She's got the flu," Jenny mumbled. "It's pretty bad."

"You sound awful," he growled suspiciously.

"It's a cold," Jenny waved him off. "I'm more worried about her. She's pitiful," Jenny said, frowning. "I have to force her to eat."

Jethro sounded distressed, and she was sorry to be worrying him.

"She'll be okay, Jethro."

"Is someone helping you? You need to rest, too," he insisted protectively.

"You know Tali's a godsend," Jenny said.

She winced. Her throat was killing her.

"Jen, you don't sound okay," he said aggressively. "If you're both sick, you'll keep passing it around."

"I'm about over mine, Jethro," she said. "It's really just a cold. I had the pediatrician test me to make sure."

He made a noise of skepticism and muttered under his breath.

"Can I do anything?" he asked helplessly.

"How can I soothe her?" Jenny asked seriously. "Do you have any ideas? She's asleep now, but when she's awake, she's," Jenny paused, desperate. "She's miserable."

"Cool compress," Gibbs threw out. "Tylenol for the symptoms, you know this, Jen."

"I know the basics. How did you soothe Kelly? Didn't you have any tricks?" she prodded.

He rubbed his forehead.

"We watched movies," he said. "I wrapped her up like a caterpillar or something and just gave her lots of attention. I spoiled the hell out of her," he said, lowering his voice hoarsely. "Jen, I'm not there."

"I know," she said quietly. "She's never been sick before. This came out of nowhere."

"It happens," he said, cradling his forehead in his palm. "Jen, I need to get to a crime scene, but I'll call tonight, okay?" he said gently. "I'll check on you guys."

"If I'm asleep—"

"I want you to answer the phone," he said forcefully. "Jenny, answer when I call, I want to know if she's any better."

She sighed.

"I can do that," she agreed.

"Get some rest," he said. "Feel better. Tell her I love her."

She murmured a little unintelligibly, and he hung up, more stressed than he had been before she called. The caseload was still heavy, they had two high-profile media nightmares on their hands, and his biggest concern was Madeleine's flu.

* * *

><p>Abby Sciuto was busy pretending to be Gibbs while he was away. She was poking through things on his desk playfully—not invasively. She was bored. She had no forensics to do, even though they were loaded with cases.<p>

Everything seemed to hit a dead end.

Gibbs' phone kept ringing, but Abby knew better than to answer it. Though she did get curious when it rang for the fifth time in less than ten minutes. No one ever needed Gibbs that urgently.

Swirling around in the chair, Abby waited for Gibbs to come back up from Autopsy so she could present her report to him. When the phone began to ring again, she stopped, staring at it, and—after a quick con-pro debate in her mind, lunged forward and picked it up.

"_El Jefe's_ desk, Abby Sciuto speaking," she said brightly.

There was brief silence.

"Who is this?" demanded a female voice in a rush, her tone angry and impatient.

"Abby Sciuto," repeated Abby, recoiling a little. "NCIS."

"Where is Agent Gibbs?" the woman asked.

"He's—" Abby began. She was cut off.

"I need to speak with him," the woman interrupted urgently. "I've been trying to—where is he?" she asked again.

Swallowing, Abby sat up, frightened. She didn't understand what was going on.

"He's here, he's in autopsy," she tried to soothe.

"I need you to get him now," the woman said sharply. "Abby?" she tried rapidly. "It's an emergency."

The woman sounded upset. Very, very upset. Conflicted, Abby stood—unsure if she should leave the phone or stay on the line to help.

"What should I tell him—Gibbs!" she broke off, as the elevator _dinged_ and he stepped out, looking bear-like and gruff as usual. He looked up when he heard her and glared.

"Abs, what are you doing?" he asked.

The woman was saying something. Abby held the phone out, biting her lip, and shook it at him hurriedly.

"There's a woman on the phone, she says she needs you," Abby explained quickly. "It's an emergency."

Gibbs crossed the room in half a second, colour draining from his face. Abby handed off the phone and clasped her hands, biting her thumb. She watched him press the phone to his hear, running a hand over his mouth first.

He spoke into the mouthpiece roughly.

"Jen?" he asked "Jen, _what is it_?"

* * *

><p>Gibbs stormed into Director Morrow's office without knocking, or even checking to see if the Director was free. It was pure luck that he was, but he was irritated all the same to burst in on in such a manner.<p>

"Agent Gibbs—"

"I need to go to Israel," Gibbs interrupted shortly.

Morrow stared at him. He blinked, shaking his head abruptly.

"Have you lost your mind, Agent Gibbs? You're the only available Supervisory Field Agent, and we've got twelve unsolved, open cases!"

Gibbs made it clear with a look that he didn't give a damn.

"My daughter's sick," he said.

"I'm sorry," said Morrow. "I'm sure Agent Shepard is more than capable of caring for her—"

"Sir, my daughter is in the hospital," Gibbs said dangerously. "I'm going to Israel."

Morrow looked taken aback. He hesitated, and shook his head.

"Gibbs, I can't authorize it," he said desperately. "You already took that impromptu vacation to France."

Gibbs slammed his hands down on the Director's desk, affording him no respect.

"Morrow, she's in the _hospital_," he growled aggressively.

"My hands are tied, Jethro," Morrow said sharply.

They stared at each other for a moment, and Gibbs stepped back, a determined, stubborn look settling in his hardened eyes.

"If you leave the country, Gibbs, I'll suspend you," Morrow said. "Without pay."

Gibbs didn't even think it over. It was a choice between a goddamn job and his _daughter_. He turned on his heel and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

He called to get a flight to Israel as soon as he could get his phone in his hand.

* * *

><p>He didn't think the flight to Israel could be any damn longer. He finally landed in the early morning, and he went directly to Dana Children's Hospital at the Sourasky Medical Center in Tel Aviv.<p>

The children's ward was garishly decorated and he hated it immediately. The walls were filled with happiness, and no parent here would ever think it to be a _happy_ place. His jaw was locked tightly. He felt like he couldn't breathe. Jenny hadn't known what exactly was wrong when she called, and he hadn't spoken to her since.

After a frustrating struggle with a nurse, and the language—he discovered that they could both speak Russian, and finally was directed towards a surgical waiting room. He pushed open a very heavy door, looking around the room with sharp, bloodshot eyes.

Jenny was sitting by a window, her head in her hands, diaper bag in her lap.

"Jenny," he barked.

She was the only one in the room, so it didn't matter how loud he was. And the crushing silence made him sound damn loud.

She looked up, straightened a little, and then lowered her head again, shaking it. He walked over to her and she stood up, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him tightly, her shoulders shaking.

He pushed her back, holding her shoulders, and touched her face.

"Is she okay?" he asked, stumbling over the words. "Jenny, is Emmy okay?"

Jenny nodded, letting out a breath. Her lips trembled and she struggled to brush tears away, swallowing hard a few times to clear her throat, steady her words.

"She's in surgery," Jenny said hoarsely. "The doctors say she'll be fine."

"What's wrong?" Gibbs asked tensely. "What _happened?_ It was just the flu."

Jenny bent her arms and grasped his hands tightly, lacing her fingers into his.

"I know it was. Her fever kept getting higher, and she started vomiting," Jenny shook her head, looking at him desperately. "She started whining and crying all the time, and she started just curling up with me and whimpering, and the pediatrician told me to take her to the ER—"

"What's wrong with her?" Gibbs asked sharply, skipping the explanation.

"Appendicitis," Jenny said softly.

He felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

"She's in surgery? Just now? Jen, it's been a day since you called!"

"I called before I took her to the ER, and then they had to run tests to figure out what was wrong, and prep her—she's been in there half an hour, and a nurse just told me she's doing fine," Jenny burst into tears, shaking her head.

He frowned and pulled her back towards him, holding her tightly. He relaxed a very little bit, to hear some information, and to hear that Madeleine was somewhat okay. He held Jenny's hand on his shoulder and squeezed, burying his lips in her hair, right next to her ear.

"She turned so pale, and she couldn't even cry anymore, she'd been crying for so long," Jenny sobbed, hiding her face.

Gibbs murmured in her ear, trying to calm them both down.

"I can't believe you're here," Jenny mumbled, moving her head on his chest. She looked up at him, her eyes red and wide and tired. He took a deep breath, pushing his hand back through her hair and touching her cheek again.

"I'm here," he muttered. "It's okay, Jenny," he soothed.

He pulled her forehead against his chest and rested his chin on the crown of her head, still not sure he was breathing quite right.

She grabbed his wrist, holding on to him tightly.

"Thank you," she murmured. "Thank you for being here," she went on, talking to herself now. "Jethro, I'm a mess. I just want to _see_ her…"

He listened to her talk to herself. He didn't trust his voice to say anything back to her.

It wasn't too much longer before a nurse approached them, but it felt like forever. Gibbs was staring at the ceiling, holding Jenny's hand tightly on his thigh, when she twitched it away from him and stood up, crossing her arms.

He looked up when she moved away and stood, eyeing the nurse cautiously. She was a very young woman, but she didn't look like she had come to deliver bad news.

"Miss Shepard?" she asked in halting, uncertain English.

Jenny answered gently in Hebrew, indicating that she could speak it. The nurse seemed to relax. She began to talk, gesturing with her hands. She paused, and pointed at Gibbs.

"_Aba_," Jenny said, and the nurse went on, keeping Jenny enthralled.

Gibbs watched helplessly, unable to remotely understand; out of the loop. The nurse smiled, nodded to both of them, and walked off, leaving the waiting room. Jenny reached up, pushed her hair back, and turned to him, closing her eyes.

She reached out and hugged him, kissing his shoulder.

"She's fine," Jenny said. "They're moving her to a recovery room. Everything went according to procedure."

He let out a tense breathe and nodded, grasping her shoulder.

"Can we see her?" he asked, disentangling himself from Jenny.

She nodded, clasping her hands together.

"In a few moments, once they get her settled. It could take a few hours for her to wake up," Jenny explained. She sighed, shaking her head. "She'll have that horrible scar," Jenny moaned, frowning.

Gibbs shrugged.

"Doesn't matter," he said seriously. "She's okay, that's what matters."

"Yeah," Jenny agreed, chewing on her thumbnail. She closed her eyes, her lips shaking.

Her cheeks were pale and, now that he focused on her a little more, she looked like she was still sick. She looked like she hadn't slept in days, and it wasn't just to do with the stress of this emergency. He frowned, folding his arms in front of her.

"Jen, you're still sick," he growled.

She looked at him narrowly.

"I don't want to hear it," she said.

"Jen."

"Jethro," she said, patronizing. "Our daughter just had her _appendix_ removed. A minor flu on my part is _not_ a big deal."

He glared at her.

"Yes, it is," he argued. "You caught it from her trying to take care of her by yourself," he accused. "She could get sick around you. She could get an infection. She just had surgery."

Jenny dropped her head into her hands, taking in what he had said. She looked up, frustrated.

"I didn't have any other option, Jethro!" she said tightly. "I happened to get sick when she did. There was no one else to take care of her."

"I should have come," he muttered to himself. "Jen, you knew you needed help."

"And you were just going to drop everything and fly off to Israel?" Jenny scoffed.

He spread his arms out.

"I'm here now!"

"This is different!"

He glared at her.

"Jen," he said sharply, pointing at her. "If you need help, tell me. I don't give a damn if it's inconvenient or impossible, if you need help, I will be here. Understand?"

She stared at him, her eyes wet.

"Run _that_ by Director Morrow," she said stubbornly.

"I don't care about Morrow," Gibbs growled. "He's not important to me." He took Jenny's shoulders. "You're important to me. Maddie is important to me."

She bit her lip, studying him.

"Got it?" he asked pointedly.

She nodded.

* * *

><p>They were told a doctor would be in to educate them on recovery in about half an hour, but neither one of them were too concerned about that. When the nurse closed the door behind them, Jenny dashed over to the bed, stopping just at the last moment to gently lean on her hands and peer down at the drugged toddler.<p>

She covered Madeline's hand with hers and sat on the edge of the bed, looking briefly at the monitor what stood next to her and then reaching out to rest her hand on Madeleine's forehead lightly. She smiled in relief, and looked over at Gibbs.

"Her fever is gone," she said, her shoulder slumping. "I thought that damn fever would never break."

Gibbs walked up next to her, tilting his head as he looked down at Madeleine. She looked tiny, even in the child's hospital bed. She looked pale and a little weak and she breathed so deeply it seemed like she stopped every few moments. She looked peaceful, though, and that was a comfort—but it was still killing him to be in this hospital room with her.

He bent over her and kissed her forehead, resting his palm where Jenny had touched. He rubbed her soft skin for a moment and straightened up abruptly, bracing his shoulders.

"You want coffee, Jen?" he asked.

She looked surprised.

"Don't you want to see her first, Jethro?" she asked, trying to calm him down. She thought he'd be more eager to sit with her until she awoke.

He looked at her guardedly, and shook his head.

"Can't," he said gruffly, only able to force out a few steady syllables. "Need a minute, Jen," he pleaded, wincing.

She looked up at him and then back at Madeleine, nodding slowly.

"Coffee," she agreed, her voice laced with quiet understanding.

He got out of the suffocating room before she could blink, and she leaned close to Madeleine, stroking the toddler's hair back maternally. It hadn't occurred to her at first that Jethro would be so bothered by the hospital room, but she supposed that if she had lost a child, she would find it unbearable to face an emergency situation like this one.

* * *

><p>He needed a minute to process it; to get it through his head that Madeline was going to be fine.<p>

Gibbs wondered vaguely if coffee in Israeli hospitals was as bad as the coffee in American hospitals. He ended up being unable to tell; he was drinking the hot liquid, but he wasn't focused on tasting it. He walked painfully slowly back to the room, taking his time on flights of stairs, dreading going back in.

It wasn't that he wasn't concerned about Madeleine, and it wasn't that he didn't want to see her.

It was partly that—he wanted to see her, but he didn't want to see her like this. It was too much of a haunting reminder that Madeleine's wellbeing wasn't guaranteed. He didn't like being reminded that her life was so fragile. He was already aware of that; it had been constantly on his mind from the day she was born.

It pissed him off that the universe couldn't guarantee him Madeleine. Kelly had already been ripped away from him. Shannon had been taken away. Why couldn't he just be promised that Madeleine would always be safe? Wasn't that fair?

He swore under his breath, pacing outside of the hospital room with two cups of coffee in his hand. It had never struck him so acutely how far away Israel was until this had happened, and he'd needed to get here immediately. There was nothing _immediate_ about _twelve_ hours.

It scared him to see Madeleine so sick. It had scared him to find Jenny so distraught, because he knew she'd never act in such a panicked way unless she really was afraid something bad was happening.

And how was even supposed to offer support when he didn't have any confidence in things turning out okay? Things hadn't turned out okay for Kelly.

He leaned against the door, pressing his forehead into it, and grit his teeth, holding both coffee cups tightly. After a moment, he slowly opened the door and went back into the room, setting one down on a plastic bedside table. He handed the untouched one to Jenny.

Jenny took it and smiled. She sat next to the bed in a chair, her hand placed firmly over Madeleine's.

"Sit down," she murmured.

He chose to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching over Madeleine protectively, one hand on either side of her waist. Jenny reached up and rested her hand on his thigh, squeezing.

"She's fine, Jethro," Jenny soothed. "She'll be awake in an hour or two," she went on. "You missed the doctor."

He looked at her, eyebrows raised.

"I did?" he asked gruffly. "Didn't mean to," he said, narrowing his eyes. "What'd he say?"

"She," corrected Jenny, giving him a look. He rolled his eyes, and she laughed. "She told me that surgery went well, and Madeleine will be fully awake in a few hours. She's unusually young for appendicitis, so she'll be here for two days, three at the most, just for observation and monitored recovery," Jenny explained. She sighed, and rubbed her forehead. "Complete recovery is about four weeks, but that just means I can't let her run around or jump on things, and I have to watch her solid foods—

"We," Gibbs interrupted pointedly.

She lifted her eyes.

"Jethro, you're not going to be here," she said bluntly.

"Yeah, I am," he said. "Two weeks."

Her jaw fell open.

"How," she began. "How is that—"

She stared at him, shaking her head.

"You can't just take two weeks out of nowhere! Morrow barely gives you a week for her birthday, and you plan in advance!" Jenny sounded angry.

Gibbs hesitated. He gave her sort of a brazen, guilty look.

"Morrow suspended me," he said gruffly. "No reason for me to spend all that free time bumming around the basement," he added sarcastically.

Jenny stared at him, her mouth open.

"He did what?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "He _suspended_ you?" she asked, setting her jaw stiffly. She pressed her lips together and looked down at Madeleine's hand briefly. "Your _daughter_ had a medical emergency!"

"I know, Jen," he said tensely. "I told him that. NCIS is stretched thin."

"That shouldn't matter," she said hotly, standing up suddenly. She looked pissed. "That isn't—Jethro, you realize that if you had been a _woman_ and your child was hurt, you'd have been allowed to leave? No questions? I'm going to call him," she snapped. "I cannot _believe_ he suspended you that's—that's—"

"Jenny," Jethro reached out and touched her shoulders, squeezing gently. "Forget it. It doesn't matter," he said, nodding past her shoulder. "You guys have me for two weeks."

He pulled his hand back and reached behind him, rubbing the nape of his neck. It pained him to say it but—

"It's the longest I've ever been with her."

* * *

><p>It took Gibbs a couple of to adjust to Jenny's swanky new apartment. In the panic of all that had happened, he'd forgotten she had moved since his last visit. The place was nice, and located in a very upscale, high-class part of Tel-Aviv; it looked very safe, even at night. There were streetlights everywhere.<p>

Exhausted and sick, Jenny was in bed. They had brought Madeleine home two days ago and at Gibbs' urging, Jenny had finally taken the night to just sleep, and had stumbled to her bed and collapsed, clothing still on, leaving him with a slightly cranky, sore baby.

"Madeleine," he soothed, holding her in his lap while he adjusted bathwater. He rested his palm on her head, his other waiting patiently under the stream for the water to warm. She squirmed.

"Mama," she said insistently, arching her back as she tried to wriggle away.

"Hey," he said gently, trying to keep her still. "Maddie, take it easy." He pulled up her shirt and touched her hand to her stomach where her still very fresh scar was. "It hurts more when you move, do you understand?"

She touched the scar herself gently, and sat up, looking into the bathtub. She stood and looked over the edge. He held her around the waist loosely, deciding the water was warm enough. He plugged the drain and stood, picking her up and sitting on a stool Jenny had in the bathroom.

"Arms up," he ordered, helping her out of her shirt. He took her socks off and her jeans and then sat her in the bathtub while he added soap and got down on his knees to help her bathe.

"Warm enough?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered, touching the bubbles and cupping them in her hands. She stayed quiet and splashed a little bit, washing her hands off under the faucet. She crinkled her nose and looked at him, holding out her arms. She waved them up and down impatiently.

"Scub," she said pointedly. "Scub," she insisted, and then she said something in Hebrew.

He picked up her soft, dolphin-shaped wash glove and slipped it onto his hand, waving it at her.

"Scrub?" he clarified, making the dolphin dance. He wet it and rubbed some baby soap into it and smirking. He reached over obediently and took her hand. She giggled and pulled her hand back, giving him a sassy look.

"No," she decided, snickering.

He raised his eyebrows, amused.

"Is this a game?" he asked. "Is this a game Emmy plays with Mommy?" he asked, getting up on his knees and leaning forward. He made a face at her. "I'm going to get you."

Madeleine covered her eyes. She giggled, and hid her face, pulling her knees up slowly.

"Be careful," he warned, tickling her knees with the edge of the dolphin washcloth glove. "No more Mister Nice Dad," he growled playfully.

She shrieked and he laughed. The door was closed and Jenny's room wasn't too near the bathroom, so he wasn't concerned about waking her. Madeleine peeked at him and then shifted, reaching for the side of the tub. She grasped it and stood up shakily.

"Madeleine," he said, his smile fading. "Sit down," he said.

She shook her head and giggled again, her hand slipping a little on the wet side of the tub. He cringed, afraid she was going to fall and re-open her wound.

"Sit," he said again, shifting so he could lean forward and grab her. He braced the hand with the dolphin on it on the tub and reached out. She ignored him again and he frowned, the lines in his mouth hardening. He gently grasped her elbow, at least getting a firm hold on her.

He resorted to a tone he hadn't used in a long, long time.

"Madeleine Jane Gibbs, sit down _now_."

First, middle, and last name—uttered in a low, anger-controlled threat that was warning enough to make any kid listen immediately. Madeleine was no exception. She widened her eyes a little and very slowly sat back down, looking up at him glumly.

He let out a breath; sorry he'd started playtime in the bathtub.

"Thank you," he said pointedly.

"Mama," she said unhappily, glaring at him.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, lifting one eyebrow as he glared right back. "C'mere. Cover your eyes, I'll wash your hair," he murmured, using only a little of the mild shampoo so there would be no chance of burning her eyes.

* * *

><p>Gibbs didn't feel like putting Madeleine to bed right after her bath. He was afraid she'd shift around too much while she was trying to fall asleep, and he didn't want her to hurt herself. She wasn't as sore as she had been for the first two days, and that meant she had to be watched carefully.<p>

So he snuggled her up in some footie pajamas, grabbed a fluffy throw blanket, and settled down on the living room couch for movie time. Jenny did not have a particularly large selection for the toddler, but the few she did have were well used, and when Madeleine had been given the chance she had selected _The Wizard of Oz_.

Meaning Gibbs immediately wanted to shoot himself in the ears.

If the Munchkins weren't irritating enough, the whole damn thing was dubbed in Hebrew.

He lay on his back on the couch while she sat near his ankles, curled up in her blanket between his calves ankles. Glassy-eyed, he stared at the Wicked Witch as she cackled, and went up in a puff of garish orange smoke. He put his hand behind his head and looked at Madeleine intently.

"This doesn't scare you?" he asked mildly.

She looked at him curiously, sucking her thumb.

"Hmpf," he snorted.

Madeleine focused sleepily back on the movie. Gibbs smiled, turning his head and closing his eyes. He tried to block out the annoying sound of Munchkins singing in Hebrew, falling into the restful half-sleep he had mastered on his deployments. He was asleep, but awake and alert at the same time.

It was a Marine thing.

Madeleine shifted lightly and then crawled over his knees and stomach to his chest, lowering her face to his. She head-butted him gently.

"Dada," she whispered, hunkering down to his chest.

"Hmm?" he asked, opening his eyes groggily. "What is it?" he asked hoarsely, reaching out to touch her back soothingly.

Madeleine patted his shoulder and stretched out flat on his chest, slipping her arms around his neck.

"I sleep," she said childishly. "Sleep here."

"Okay," he agreed, lifting his head.

He kissed her cheek and folded his hands behind his head, closing his eyes again.

"Lei-lah-tov," Madeleine whispered. "Lei-tov," she said again, poking his shoulder.

He snorted and smirked.

"Leila tov," he said back. "Night-night."

* * *

><p>Jenny removed an elastic tie from her mouth and secured her hair in a ponytail, picking up the folders in front of her and setting them down on the kitchen table. She sat down next to Jethro and sighed, frowning.<p>

"You haven't decided on one?" he asked, taking one she handed him.

"I've narrowed it down to these three."

Jethro looked through Jenny's security-cleared Nanny choices. He pushed one at her.

"No," he said immediately.

Surprised, the lifted her brows and glanced down.

"You barely even looked at him," she protested.

"He's a _he_," Jethro said. He gave Jenny a tense look. "No."

"You cannot be that sexist."

"I'm uncomfortable with it," he growled. "She's a little girl."

Jenny pushed the file away with a frown.

"Just because he's male and looks after children doesn't mean he'll," Jenny paused, struggling with the words. "It doesn't mean he'll…molest her."

Gibbs just glared at her.

"Yeah," he agreed skeptically. "I don't care Jen. It's weird," he growled. He looked at the other two files, younger women from poorer families who needed money, or students looking for work.

Jenny sighed.

"You look over them, tell me what you think," she said.

She stood up.

"Are you hungry?" she asked. "I'm starving."

He was absently poring over the file.

"You want to go out?" he asked.

"Hmm?" she answered distractedly.

"Do you want to go out?" he repeated. He looked up. "To dinner. With me."

She looked at him as if he'd grown another head.

"Are you referring to an adult, nice dinner that does not involve work or child?" she asked hopefully.

"Yeah," he drawled. "Hell," he joked smugly. "I'll even pay."

She snorted, and punched him lightly in the shoulder. She leaned against his chair and looked down, raising an eyebrow.

"What will we do with her?" she asked.

Gibbs turned and glanced towards the living room, where Madeleine was napping sleepily on the couch.

"She can hold down the fort."

"Jethro!"

Jenny laughed. He snaked an arm out and grabbed her, pulling her into his lap. She covered her mouth to muffle her shriek and leaned back, trusting him to not let her flip backwards off him. He didn't, and she straightened up, shaking her head in amusement. She leaned against the table and put her head in her palm.

"I can call Tali and see if she's available," she said.

He nodded, rubbing her thigh teasingly. She smirked and grabbed his hand, forcing him to stop. She started to reprimand him, and then paused, looking thoughtful. She peeked over his shoulder towards the living room.

"She's asleep," Jenny said slowly.

He looked at her slyly.

"She's usually out in the afternoon for an hour."

"I can do an hour," Jethro said quickly, pushing her off his lap and standing up. He pretended to test the kitchen table for sturdiness. She rolled her eyes and pushed him out of the living room, shushing him under her breath as she guided him towards her bedroom.

"Jethro," she mocked, cracking the door so she'd hear if Madeleine woke up, "You can do _ten_ _minutes_."

* * *

><p>Gibbs smirked and held out his hand as Madeleine pranced across the neighborhood playground to him. She giggled and grabbed his much bigger palm with both hands, snuggling up to his knee happily.<p>

"Dada," she said pleasantly, reaching up to grasp the chain of the swing he was sitting in. "Dada, pick up," she said, grasping at him with the other hand.

Gently, he picked her up and placed her on his lap, kissing her forehead playfully.

"Ah," he said fondly, ruffling her hair. "You're feeling much better," he said confidently, nodding.

"Mush bettah," she agreed childishly, mimicking his nod.

He glanced around the empty playground. It was cool outside, and the sun was setting; most parents had taken their children home for dinner. He and Jenny, after a fourth pleasing doctor's check-up, had just brought Madeleine out. Gibbs had been left alone with her right now, as Jenny had gone back to fetch her cell phone and a sandcastle toy the two-year-old was whining for.

Madeleine lifted her t-shirt and pointed to the healing scar.

"Bettah," she said to herself, poking it. "No more ouch," she said, looking up at him. She dropped her shirt and covered her mouth, giggling when he just stared at her. She screamed and covered her eyes, hiding her face.

"Why are you hiding?" he asked playfully, chucking her chin up. He growled at her softly and stood her on his lap, crinkling his nose at her and making a funny face. "Don't hide from me. Don't hide. I'll just…" he trailed off, and then lunged forward, nipping her shoulder softly with his lips. "I'll just _get you_!" he cackled.

Madeleine cracked up, her eyes wrinkling to tiny green slivers as she giggled.

"Aba, stop," she snickered, grasping his nose.

He snorted and flicked her little hand away, checking to see if Jenny were on her way back yet. Her apartment wasn't too far from this neighborhood's playground, so he wondered what was keeping her. Perhaps she was just taking her time so he could have some time with Madeleine.

"Maddie stop," he retorted seriously, pouting at her.

She covered her mouth, eyes wide.

"Uh-oh!" she shrieked. She shook her head. "Didn't!" she said, the word she exclaimed when she was falsely accused, or didn't believe something. "Aba, stop!"

"Maddie stop!"

"Aba!" she shrieked. She threw up her hands and shook her head. "Oy!" she cried, folding her arms. She mimicked an irritated gesture Jenny often made and then smiled at Gibbs and batted her eyelashes.

He wriggled his eyebrows at her and glared scarily.

"Oy, what?" he asked darkly. "Oy, Emmy," he said. He bent closer. She gasped and started to lean back but he hugged her close, tickling the bottom of her foot with his free hand. "Oy," he teased again, leaning her back into a cradle. She giggled. "You stop," he said, this time touching his nose to hers. "Stop being so cute," he said gruffly.

She squirmed and beamed at him.

He let her sit up and helped her when she indicated she wanted to climb down. She pranced off towards the side of the playground, yanked up a handful of the yellow-flowered weeds growing near the grass, and brought them back to him.

"Toda," he said gratefully. He took the flowers. He placed one behind each of his ears and looked at her seriously. She put her hand to her forehead and laughed madly. He grinned, ruffling her hair again.

God, he was glad the appendix thing hadn't hurt her.

"Aba?" she said, peering up at him from his knee. The swing he was in swayed slightly as he reached out to hold the chains. He looked down at her seriously.

"Yes," he drawled, arching his eyebrows.

She pointed up.

"You fly?" she asked. "You…" she started in English, but seemed not to know the word, and fumbled in baby-ish Hebrew.

His brow furrowed; he leaned down.

"What did you say, honey?" he asked.

"Aba go bye-bye?" she asked after a moment, looking confused. "Fly bye-bye?" she asked.

"Oh," he said grimly, suddenly realizing what she meant.

Gibbs grit his teeth and sighed, giving her an apologetic look.

"Aba has to go," he agreed slowly, nodding. "Aba goes to America tomorrow night," he reminded her. It was something Jenny had been telling Madeleine for the past week. They thought she hadn't been comprehending it.

Madeleine made the sign for airplane and stared at Gibbs, frowning. She peered at him over his knee. She knit her brows and shook her head, patting his knee.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "Aba stay," she said.

He opened his mouth.

"I can't, Madeleine," he said gently. "Aba has to go."

"Dada stay?" she tried, perking up. "Daddy?"

He smiled a little, reaching out to cup her cheek.

"I want to," he said. "I have to work," he tried to explain.

"No," Madeleine stamped her foot. "No go," she said. "Dada, no," she said again. She shook her head. She pushed his knee.

"Hey," he said, startled. She backed away, crossing her arms and pouting. She stomped her foot again.

"No want Dada," she said stubbornly.

Gibbs, stung, reached out and drew her back towards him. She struggled and hid her face in her hands, bursting into tears.

"Dada," she cried, the word drawn out in the temper-tantrum drawl of a two-year old.

Gibbs sighed heavily and stood up, sweeping her into his arms and hugging her tightly. He rested his hand on the back of her head.

"Hey, hey," he soothed gently. "M, it's okay," he tried. "Maddie. Emmy," he murmured his nicknames for her. "It's not forever, Emmy, Daddy will be back," he promised. "I'll always come back."

She continued to cry and he rubbed her back. He set his jaw as Jenny approached, the content look on her face fading when she realized the atmosphere had changed. Madeleine's sand bucket dangled from her wrist and she stopped in front of Gibbs with wide eyes.

"Is she okay?" Jenny asked, concerned. "Is she sick, hurting?" she asked, maternal worry written all over her face.

He shook his head, still rubbing Madeleine's back.

"Dada," she cried again, stubbornly. "Stay," she sobbed.

Gibbs forced himself to speak through a locked throat.

"Doesn't want me to go," he said roughly, his words clipped.

Jenny touched her hand to her lips, wrapping one arm around her stomach for comfort. She looked at him, unable to even be amused by the two yellow flowers sticking out from behind his hears.

"Shhh," he soothed, still trying to calm Madeleine. "It's okay, baby."

Jenny swallowed, lowering her hand to cross her other arm around herself, too. She shook her head helplessly, wincing as she watched Jethro struggle to pacify their daughter. She met his eyes, and knew they were thinking the same thing—painful as it had been for _him_, it had been better when Madeleine hadn't understood who he was and hadn't been attached, because then she hadn't had to experience this constant pain of saying goodbye.

Jenny knew that, just like she herself, Gibbs would rather suffer that pain tenfold than have to bear Madeleine suffering it.

* * *

><p><em>Reviews are appreciated-and encouraging!<br>-Alexandra_


	8. Shemoneh

_****__A/N: I apologize for the long wait but, again, I'm spacing it out so I don't end up keeping people waiting for months on end. Today is Passover, so I hope that is happy for any Jewish readers. Tomorrow is Easter, so I hope that is happy for any Christian readers! If you're neither, oops, no Holiday weekend for you. You know what happens on Tuesday? "the Missionary Position". _

_And let's give KATE TODD a warm welcome._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Eight<strong>_

**Late August/Early September; 2003**

Gibbs hung up his cell phone and swore. The baseball game he'd been listening to droned on in the silence of the basement, and he ran his thumb tensely over the keypad of his phone, gritting his teeth. He had never hated his job until this moment—and he _really_ hated it right now.

He punched speed dial one violently and held the phone to his ear, leaning against the boat.

Dead Navy personnel on Air Force One meant a possible threat to the President's life, and that meant Gibbs' hands were tied. DiNozzo had booked a flight to Wichita in an hour, and it didn't matter that Gibbs was supposed to be on a totally different flight to a better place in _three_ hours.

The phone kept ringing, and he hung up, calling a different number. This one rang endlessly, too, and so he called his last resort—and she picked up.

"Mossad," it was the customary greeting.

"Tali," Gibbs said gruffly. "Where's Jen?"

"Ahh, hello, Agent Gibbs," Tali said. "She has not answered?"

"No," he answered tensely. "Is that bad?"

"I think not," Tali said. "She and Ziva are detoxing. They just finished an operation."

"Is she in the complex or at her apartment?" Gibbs asked.

"She is here," Tali said. "But if she is detoxing, I cannot contact her until they are finished," Tali paused. "Is everything okay?"

Gibbs rubbed his forehead in frustration. He had already missed Madeleine's third birthday. He hadn't seen her since November, when she'd had her appendix out. He missed her. And now, he was going to have to tell Jenny—

"Tali, I need you to tell her I can't make it tonight," he growled dejectedly. "Urgent case, tell her it involves Air Force One, and that I'll see what I can do to fly over as soon as it's done…"

* * *

><p>Jenny laughed as she snatched up Madeleine and tumbled onto the sofa with her, tickling the three-year-old mercilessly.<p>

"Mommy, stop it!" cried Madeleine, squealing and twisting in an attempt to escape.

"No, ma'am," teased Jenny seriously. "What do you say?"

Madeleine, her eyes bright and her face red, shrieked and burst into giggles again, trying to force the words out. She hid her face and kept trying to manage words.

"I can't!" she cried, giggling.

Jenny stopped with the tickling and put her nose near Madeleine's, raising her eyebrows comically.

"What do you say?" she asked, puckering her lips.

Madeleine sucked in her breath and burst into giggles again.

"Love you, Mommy," she said obediently.

Jenny used her pursed lips to kiss the little girl on her forehead.

"I love you too, baby," she whispered, pulling Madeleine into her lap snugly.

Jenny sighed and pushed her hair back, leaning against the couch lazily and tilting her head at Madeleine.

"We've got to talk, _ahuva_," Jenny said, resigned. Madeleine tilted her head up and smiled warmly, her eyes wide. She nodded, agreeing with Jenny, and then reached for her shoes, untying the laces. Jenny rolled her eyes and locked her arms around Madeleine, reaching out to begin tying the shoes again.

"Madeleine, remember when we discussed Daddy coming to see you?" Jenny asked, slowly tying the laces so Madeleine could see her.

Madeleine nodded.

"Oh, yeah," she mumbled, nodding still. "He miss me," she said solemnly, repeating what Jenny had told her many, many times. She tried to stop Jenny from tying her shoes back—Madeleine hated wearing shoes.

"Well," Jenny began calmly, "Daddy's job made him stay in the United States," she continued seriously, double knotting the shoe this time. "He has to come another time, but he promises it will be soon," she explained.

"Okay," Madeleine said, unconcerned.

Jenny frowned. It had been so long since Jethro had seen her. Madeleine had come a long way from clinging to Jethro on the playground and refusing to go to sleep the night before he left. She spoke to him on the phone and understood that she had a father, but for a three-year-old, out of sight was out of mind—and Jenny wasn't sure Madeleine remembered Jethro that well.

Jenny leaned forward and caught Madeleine's eye, stroking her hair.

"Madeleine," she murmured. "Do you remember your father?" she asked gently. Madeleine nodded, reaching for her shoelaces again. Jenny caught her hand and Madeleine glared at her, wriggling.

Madeleine spoke in Hebrew and Jenny grinned.

"Daddy did give you the rocking horse," she agreed in English. "You know he misses you," she said. "He _wants_ to see you. He just can't because of work. Make sense?"

"Okay," Madeleine agreed, looking away. She kicked her feet unhappily and threw her head back, glaring at Jenny. "Take shoes off," she said in Hebrew.

"No," Jenny answered. She stood up. "You're going to the playground, remember?" Jenny carried Madeleine into the kitchen and sat her on the counter, glancing towards the playroom. "Rebecca?" she called. She knew she had heard Madeleine's nanny walk in. "Are you ready for Madeleine?"

The young woman emerged from the playroom holding Madeleine's baby bag, a warm smile on her face. She was a twenty-three year old student from a very poor family who, after serving her mandatory two years in the IDF, had decided to try to go to school. She worked for Jenny during the days and attended classes at night, and Jenny was more than willing to pay her well.

Not to mention Madeleine loved her.

"Becca," said Madeleine loudly, looking around. She smiled. "Becca," she began, and promptly asked Rebecca to take her shoes off. Rebecca smiled and came up to Jenny, shaking her head.

"She loves to be no shoes," Rebecca said in her accented English, struggling.

Jenny slipped into Hebrew, making it easier on the young woman. She gave Rebecca the days' instructions, kissed her daughter goodbye, and headed off for the day's work in the West Bank—and she tried to ignore the disappointment she felt over Jethro's postponed visit.

* * *

><p>This feisty, young, determined little Secret Service woman wasn't the reason Gibbs had been forced to cancel his visit to Israel—but she was standing in front of him, and she was making his job difficult, so she damn well better believe he was going to take his frustration out on her.<p>

What part of _dead naval officer_ did Agent Caitlin Todd not understand?

Gibbs stood up, ignoring her.

"Ah, okay, we can share jurisdiction," he said in an off-hand manner. It was clear in his tone that he was blowing her off. "You can be on my team," he smirked to himself as he said it. There wasn't a chance in hell.

"Your team?" she scoffed. "Why should you head the investigation?" she demanded indignantly.

He turned towards her, glaring her straight in the eye.

"You ever worked a crime scene, Agent Todd?" he asked disparagingly.

"I am a Secret Service Agent," she answered obliquely.

He tilted his head and looked away, giving her a mocking smile.

"I thought not," he said coolly, crouching back towards the stiff body of Commander Ray Trapp.

"Wha—don't _dismiss_ me like that!" she snapped fiercely. "Okay? I _earned_ my jock-strap!" she insisted firmly, her hand motions powerful.

Gibbs stood up, tired of bantering with her.

"Yeah?" he scoffed, turning to glare at her again. "It ever give you that empty feeling?"

She looked at him, taken aback.

"What?" she asked in a higher voice.

"Your jockstrap," he growled, narrowing his eyes.

"No," she answered promptly, giving him a narrow look right back. She licked her lips. "Like some species of frog, I grow what I need."

And just like that, he didn't quite have a response. He was caught off guard by how much that one statement reminded him of a very different, yet similarly stubborn female agent he'd worked with. Maybe it was just because Jenny was on his mind, but he studied Caitlin Todd for a moment, letting her brazen statement hang.

"Gibbs," shouted Tony, swinging down from the cockpit. "Pilot won't take off 'til the Secret Service chick gives us the," he paused, strolling up to Gibbs and the Secret Service 'chick' slowly. "Thumbs up," he finished quietly, noticing she looked annoyed at being called a 'chick'.

She smirked.

"I think that just made it my team," she hissed at him.

"No," he growled, thoughts of Jenny wiped from his mind suddenly. "I think it means I just have to hijack Air Force One," he said sarcastically. "Tony, escort Agent Todd off this aircraft and close the hatch," he ordered.

He didn't have time. He was going to solve this case, solve it right, and then he was going to go see his daughter. He didn't have _time_ for the stupid, feminist, territorial games this woman wanted to play.

"You're not serious!" she said balefully. "Wait," she said. Gibbs started up the stairs to the cockpit, reaching for his gun. "Wait! Okay, okay," she relented a little, behind him in the narrow stairwell. Gibbs turned and looked at her. "Your team," she surrendered. "But only because I don't want to delay us further by having to shoot you."

She tried to justify giving in so easily with a comment like that? Jesus, the woman sounded just _like_ Jenny.

He scrutinized her for a moment, his face unreadable. She looked just as pissed—but she extended her hand in a gesture of forced peace. He didn't want to work with her. A joint investigation with an unknown agent would hamper his ability to wrap this up quickly.

But, he kind of liked her.

He wasn't going to tell Caitlin Todd that he was a little impressed.

Gibbs extended his glove-covered hand and shook hers firmly.

But he was.

Impressed.

* * *

><p>"Did you have to literally slam the door on the FBI's face?" asked Director Morrow warily, his face grainy over the plane's video communication screen.<p>

Gibbs shrugged seriously.

"There were more of them than us," he justified.

"There's always more of them than us," Morrow muttered. "You ever hear of inter-agency cooperation?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," Gibbs answered promptly. "I got the Secret Service Agent in charge at Wichita to agree to share the investigation."

"Willingly?" asked Morrow skeptically.

"Well, we could use a little back-up when we land at Andrews," admitted Gibbs sheepishly.

He had sort of twisted Todd's arm. It wasn't very fair to threaten to shoot his way into the cockpit of Air Force One—not in a post 9/11 world.

"That's what I thought," Morrow said with a smirk. "We don't have anybody to send, don't have enough agents."

"If the FBI gets this body, we won't see an autopsy report until _after_ they leak it to the Washington Post."

"Then make sure they don't get it," growled Morrow bluntly. He paused. "Will this Secret Service Agent stand up to the FBI?"

"I don't know," Gibbs said. Then: "She's got balls," he admitted with a snort.

He could give Agent Todd that.

Morrow chuckled under his breath.

"Get it done, Jethro," he said bluntly, giving him a nod and, with that, license to do what he saw fit with the case. "You get us answers, and I'll let you go to Israel soon as it's wrapped up," he promised.

"Yes, sir," Gibbs said aggressively.

If that wasn't incentive, then nothing was.

* * *

><p>If nothing, at least this case was interesting—it was getting interesting, and fast.<p>

He had gone from thinking he was going to prevent Todd from throttling DiNozzo, to teaching her how to bag-and-tag, to chasing her down the hallways of Air Force One and forcing her to vomit into an evidence bag—leaving him to think one of two things: either she had the same thing Commander Trapp had died of, or she was even more squeamish than Jenny had been about crime scenes.

Hell, they'd just been tagging half-eaten food; at least Jenny had thrown up over a corpse.

Mulling over DiNozzo's whispered words about Todd possibly having Trapp's mysterious illness, Gibbs sat on the edge of the couch she was laying on, observing her silently as Ducky checked her out.

"I think it's a stomach virus," Ducky said, after declaring she had no fever.

"I know it is," she grumbled, holding her head gently. "Did you use that thermometer on cadavers?" she asked, mildly interested.

Gibbs ruled out squeamish. Jenny would have lost her lunch at the mere thought. Agent Todd just seemed curious. He frowned slightly to himself. He forced himself to remember that every female agent was _not_ Jenny. He couldn't help thinking about Jen, though—he was supposed to be with her right now.

Not sitting on a damn flight out of Kansas watching Ducky give a princess with something to prove a check-up.

"Why are you so sure it was the flu?" Gibbs asked bluntly.

She licked her lips and sighed, reluctantly.

"It's the same symptoms Major Kerry had," she said quietly, referencing the man who had originally been scheduled to fly with the president in Commander Trapp's place.

"Did you work together recently?" Ducky asked.

"No," she said shortly.

"Well, if you didn't work with him then how—" began Ducky.

He broke off, and Gibbs narrowed his eyes slightly. So, Todd had been sleeping with Major Kerry. Ducky smiled a little, and raised his eyebrows in realization.

"Ah," the medical examiner said knowingly.

Agent Todd gave him a tight smile.

"Did you think I was a virgin?" she asked dryly.

Ducky smirked.

"I had hoped not," he said smugly.

He got up, done with his examination, and walked away. Todd shifted and looked at Gibbs, watching him glare at her. Gibbs didn't move, still studying her with intent precision. He had yet to figure out what he thought about her. He was still trying to discern whether or not he liked her, or whether he was just projecting Jenny on to her, and seeing what he really wanted to.

She eyed him balefully.

"You gonna lecture me about sleeping with people you work with?" she drawled, unconcerned.

Gibbs almost laughed. The question was just so relevant to his current thoughts. He refrained, however.

"Nope," he said curtly, shaking his head.

He glared at her a moment longer. The intercom crackled to life, calling her, and telling her that her supervisor was online for her. She sat up slowly, still looking pale and off her game. He tilted his head, feeling as if something was up.

"Want me to take that call for you?" he asked slowly.

She looked at him steadily.

"I'd have to be dead," she answered firmly, brushing past him purposefully.

He looked down at his thumbs and considered her statement. His mind drifted back to Jenny again. He thought of a mishap in Paris—

_Jenny, if you need Decker to take the shot—_

_-Over my dead body, Jethro!—_

Of course, then he'd ended up having to cover for her shooting a French Police officer—but the stubborn arrogance was the same.

Gibbs looked towards the window of Air Force One, and he laughed.

* * *

><p>Gibbs walked into autopsy armed with the knowledge that Morrow had managed to get them point on the investigation.<p>

The FBI and Secret Service had no choice, really—since DiNozzo had managed to play dead long enough for Gibbs and Ducky to steal away with the body. Gibbs wasn't sure he'd had this much fun on a case since he was working with Jenny—and back in those days, the fun had been more about her than the hijinks.

Ducky's assistant, Gerald, was just leaving autopsy with the dead Commander's uniform bagged neatly.

"I found Abby," he said. "She's on her way in."

"Yeah? You wake her up?" asked Gibbs, slightly sorry. Abby had been worked to the bone lately, and he didn't like abusing her good work. Hell—even he was feeling tired; she had to be exhausted.

"Nope, called her on her cell," Gerald said. He smirked. "Sounded like one phat party."

The doors rushed closed after Gerald, and Gibbs gave the retreating assistant a mildly confused look. Shaking off the slang that he didn't understand, Gibbs turned to Ducky with interest, edgily lookin at the beginnings of Ducky's in-depth work.

"Find anything, Ducky?" he asked tensely.

"No, and I won't for hours," the doctor said. "I've just begun examining the body for needle marks."

"You think somebody stuck 'im?" asked Gibbs, prowling around.

"I don't know."

"Anything on the uniform?"

"Not that I could see. I sent it up to Abby," Ducky answered.

"What's this?" Gibbs asked anxiously, pointing to a brown mark on the Commander. Ducky looked over, and glanced at Gibbs, patronizing him.

"A mole," he said slowly, giving his friend a look. "Gibbs," he said seriously. "Go home. Get some sleep. I would if I could," Ducky admitted tiredly.

"Can't," Gibbs said gruffly.

"This is gonna take all night," Ducky went on dolefully. "What's left of it," he muttered.

The medical examiner suddenly looked up at Gibbs, registering that Gibbs had refused his suggestion to go home pretty coldly. He started to ask, and then frowned, shaking his head as he went back to the body.

"Ah," Ducky said slowly, his voice sympathetic. "You were supposed to be in Israel, weren't you?" he asked.

Gibbs grunted in response.

"Shoulda been there yesterday," he said, prowling around the room. He picked up a role of blue towels and threw them from hand to hand, eyeing them balefully.

"I am sorry, Jethro," Ducky said. "I am sure Jenny will understand. Madeleine will, as well. She's quite young."

"Nah, Duck," said Gibbs bluntly. "She's gettin' too old for it to be easy on her."

Gibbs threw the roll of towels on an empty autopsy table and stretched out on it, closing his eyes. He drew up a picture of Madeleine in his mind, remembering her as he had last seen her—when she'd been about twenty-eight months and recovering from major surgery. He knew she probably looked totally different since her third birthday, but it was all he had.

"Duck," he drawled, drying to distract himself. "Why would Abby go to a _fat_ party?"

"Jethro," Ducky sighed, turning off the main lights. "Get some sleep."

* * *

><p>Jenny pushed hair out of her face again as she slipped her cell phone into her pocket and sat down next to Madeleine's booster seat, handing the three-year-old a bowl of grapes. She blew a sigh out through her lips and smile apologetically.<p>

"Daddy didn't answer," she said, even though Madeleine hadn't a care in the world about it.

Jenny was slightly worried that she hadn't been able to get in touch with Jethro; her only word of him had been through Tali's sympathetic message about Air Force One. Jenny had heard no news through Mossad or NCIS about any attacks on the United States or cases gone badly, so she counted her blessings—Jethro was probably just slammed with the importance of whatever he was handling.

"_Ima_," Madeleine said clearly, popping a grape in her mouth. "Becca play scops," she said conversationally, her eyes big and green and focused on Jenny. "I win Becca!" Madeleine said proudly, beaming.

Jenny took a moment to take in the childish, sweet sentences her daughter spoke. Madeleine heard so much Hebrew and English every day that her speech was somewhat less developed than some kids her age. To Jenny's slight dismay, the little girl was marginally better at Hebrew, even though Jenny intensely enforced English.

"Becca played hopscotch with you?" Jenny asked, raising her eyebrows theatrically. "And you won? My, oh my! I am so proud of you!" Jenny chucked Madeleine under the chin gently and grinned, pursing her lips. "You were polite and sweet to Becca when she lost, yes?" Jenny asked.

"Ken," agreed Madeleine eagerly. "I win Becca, ah," Madeleine held up three fingers. "Free time," she said.

Jenny mimicked the number with her own fingers.

"Oh my goodness I just don't know what to say," she said. "You are one hoppin' little fool," she flattered, smirking good-naturedly. "Eat those grapes up, baby, Mommy's going to take you to the bookstore!"

Madeleine munched on a few more grapes and Jenny got up, reaching for her phone again. She dialed Jethro's number and waited, hoping on the off chance that he might pick-up this time. She had no luck and sighed, hanging up. She looked over and watched Madeleine eat her grapes.

A year and a half ago, Jenny had told Gibbs that he just had to wait until the baby was three; then she would make some decisions about the future. She was having a difficult time with it. She knew the time had come, and she wasn't sure what she was going to do. She had an opportunity for a promotion coming up; it would get her out of Israel—and put her in Cairo; she couldn't see Jethro being any happier with Cairo.

She wanted to talk to him, but she had counted on him being here. She wanted to do it in person; it wasn't a topic for a continent-to-continent phone call. Not to mention she _missed_ him. It was excruciatingly difficult not having him as a part of her daily life. She was afraid Madeleine was forgetting him.

"_Ima_, look," Madeleine said suddenly, upending her bowl of grapes and sending the fruit flying all over the floor. The three-year-old giggled madly at her own shenanigans.

Promptly forgetting her worries for the future in light of the current mess of the present, Jenny frowned and marched over to her errant daughter.

"Madeleine _Jane…"_

* * *

><p>Morning, and Gibbs didn't feel like he's slept at all. Same case. Same frustration at missing out on his visit with his girls. It was all there; it was just magnified by tired irritation. He grit his teeth at the tedium of hearing Ducky talk scientifically.<p>

"My neuropathology exam indicates that our victim succumbed to a cerebral embolism, here in the parietal lobe. I also found a number of clots, most of them centered in the renal artery," Ducky explained.

"Isn't that unusual?" Agent Todd asked, her hand on her hip.

"Oh, not at all," Ducky went on airily. "In most cases of arterial thrombosis, clots will develop over a number of minutes or hours, and spread to the rest of the body."

"But what caused them to develop in a healthy young aviator?" Gibbs asked dully.

"Abby?" Ducky handed off his monologue to the peppy lab tech.

Abby moved into a hearty discussion of her tests, and what they meant—whilst Agent Todd, DiNozzo, and the stuffy FBI agent assigned to the case peppered her with questions. Gibbs wasn't paying attention until Abby asked:

"Do you dudes in the Secret Service ever think about throwing yourselves in front of the President's diet?"

Gibbs laughed quietly. The joke seemed to go over well.

He listened to Abby and Ducky declare the death a freak accident, but something didn't feel right—it couldn't be right. He hadn't stayed in the States, even though it meant not seeing his daughter after he'd been absent for almost a _year_, to investigate a _freak accident_. His gut was telling him there was more to this. The FBI wouldn't like it, because it meant more security threat—and the Secret Service girl really wasn't going to like what he had decided he had to do.

"Kate," Gibbs drawled, stopping her as she started to leave. He beckoned her over slowly, and casually offered her a piece of gum—so as not to catch the attention of that damn nosey FBI lackey. "When's the President returning?" Gibbs asked quietly.

"Tomorrow, noon," she answered. "I'm flying back tonight to re-join the detail."

"Mind if I tag along?" he asked.

She eyed him skeptically, holding it over his head. So he patronized her.

"Please," he offered sweetly, ignoring the look DiNozzo gave him. He at _least_ wanted to be able to tell his daughter one day that he'd only taken so long to wish her happy third birthday because he was busy saving the President's life.

Agent Todd looked impressed.

"You can," she allowed. "Your Sig Saur can't. We have a rule. No weapons on Air Force One unless you're Secret Service."

It sounded like Agent Todd was getting back at him for all of the stunts he'd pulled on her. He squinted at her silently, weighing the pros and cons in his mind. Then he unclipped his gun and left it in his desk, standing up. He put on his jacket and followed her to the elevator, dead set on following this damn case through to the end.

* * *

><p>On Air Force One, thousands of feet above cities that were ignorant of an imminent threat, Gibbs stormed out of the plane's videoconference room in search of Agent Caitlin Todd. Abby had identified the poison that had killed Commander Trapp and linked it to the dry cleaner where he, and Major Kerry, had their uniforms clean. Morrow saw an al-Qaeda plot and the FBI was storming the cleaners; not to mention Agent Todd's on-the-job romantic fling had ended up dead and it was almost a damn sure thing that there was a terrorist on the plane right now.<p>

Gibbs didn't think it was here, but he'd be damned if he didn't see the cold, shocked proof of her innocence with his own eyes.

She saw him coming down the hall and looked up from her laptop alertly, beginning to speak.

"We need to talk," he said sharply, taking her arm and starting to pull her through the nearest door.

She yanked away and protested loudly.

"I need to talk to you in private," he growled over her whining. She said something smart-assed about the President's office and he grabbed her laptop and threw it onto a couch.

"Hey!" she barked. "What are you doing?" Now she was pissed.

_Good_, he thought.

He wrenched open the lavatory door and pushed her inside roughly.

"Hey! Ow!" she squealed.

"Sit down," he snapped. He grabbed her gun from her holster, holding her arm.

"What are you doing?" she demanded; she sounded panicked now. He'd disarmed her, and cornered her. She fought him, her jaw stiff and her eyes livid. He pointed her gun at her and she jumped backwards, sitting as far away from him as possible.

"Commander Trapp was poisoned," said Gibbs. "Australian snake venom. Hard to detect, mimics a natural death."

She stared at him, and then leaned forward, challenging him with wide eyes and a bit of a lost look.

"What? You think I did it?" she asked, her voice rising.

"Well, _sweet pea_, you were with him when he was poisoned," Gibbs mocked derisively.

"Yeah, so was the President," she fired back just as meanly. "You gonna accuse him?

"No," Gibbs said. "He wasn't with Major Kerry yesterday."

Gibbs made sure his delivery was cold, and harsh—and then he waited.

She looked at him blankly.

"Tim?" she asked.

"Yeah," breathed Gibbs. "Stroked, on a Georgetown street," he told her bluntly. She looked down, her eyes moving back and forth rapidly. "You know what? I'll bet it wasn't too far from the bar where you two kissed and said _bye-bye_."

She looked up at him through her eyelashes for a split second, the colour draining from her face, and then she jumped at him, her fists colliding with his chest in a shaky but determined way. She gasped for breath, her eyes wide and shimmery.

"You," she gasped, short sobs peppering her attempts to speak. "You asshole," she managed, her voice catching in her throat. She got in one last, hard smack to his left shoulder before he managed to get his arms around her and subdue her.

Gibbs spread his hand over the back of her neck and all the fight went out of her. She stood and let him hug her.

"It's okay," he soothed.

For just a moment, he was back in the deserts of Kuwait, being yanked out of the line of fire so his commander could sit him down where the gunshots weren't so loud and shout at him in a blunt, no-time-for-games way that Shannon and Kelly were dead. He remembered what it was like to have news like that delivered so heartlessly, and he regretted the way he'd told Kate that Major Kerry was dead.

He regretted it, but he had to see her react like this to clear her.

Gibbs helped her sit down.

"Gave it to you cold," he said. "Wanted to see your reaction." She took shaking breaths, keeping her head bowed. He held her gun out to her. "Liars can't pale on cue."

Breathing heavily, she looked up at him. He shook the gun temptingly and she took it roughly, slamming it back into her holster. She took a moment to compose herself, wiping her eyes.

"You're still a bastard," she said weakly, lashing out at him.

He just looked at her as if it couldn't be helped.

"How were they poisoned?"

"Dry cleaner laced their uniforms with poison," Gibbs answered. "Must be an al-Qaeda sleeper."

"Tim—Tim must have recommended his dry cleaners, he," she paused, searching for the words.

"What?" Gibbs asked sharply.

"Yesterday," she almost started crying again, and bowed her head. "Yesterday he," she covered her face and then looked back up, pulling it together. "Tim told me that they had a drink and he gave Commander Trapp tips like that."

"Well, they gotta be after the President—what would killing the ball carrier get 'em?"

"Nothing," Kate gasped. "Another aid steps in."

It hit him.

He looked down, the thoughts clicking together. There were differences in the planes; Kate had told him so herself. He had made her tell him—

"And another plane," he said slowly. "This plane," he went on. "They forced the president to fly his back-up."

"Security's exactly the same," she said, not understanding his urgency.

"But the _plane_ isn't," he growled. "And I'll be security isn't either until the President's on board. Al-Qaeda has to have planted something on this plane!"

She looked confused and terrified.

"It—it can't be a bomb, they would have detonated it by now!"

He grabbed her arm suddenly.

"You said the locks were different."

"Um," she stuttered. "Twenty-nine has digital ones…this plane has keys," she repeated.

Gibbs looked down.

"The armory," he realized. His muscles tightened; his heart sped up. "The armory, they have keys to the armory," he said aggressively, meeting her eyes. "They copied the _movie_," he growled, unable to believe all of the crap he'd talked about Harrison Ford was relevant, "They vetted a reporter!"

"That would take years!" she shouted, standing up as he did.

"So did setting up nine-eleven," he growled, turning and shoving the door open. The memory of that day was still fresh in his mind—and for the first time since this case started, Jenny and Madeleine were wiped from it and replaced with the kind of anger that preceded the most violent acts of revenge.

An act of terrorism like that was not going to happen again. Not on his watch and not on this plane.

"There's a medical emergency in the press cabin," Kate said tensely. He pushed her towards the President's quarters.

"It's a diversion; cover the President," Gibbs ordered, sprinting towards the armory. He grabbed a gun from the ominously open cabinet, loaded it, and cocked it, holding it close to his hip as he cleared the corner.

He saw a stiff, suited figure arguing with the aviator who guarded the cockpit. He raised his weapon.

"Stop," Gibbs shouted forcefully, his gun trained on the man's back.

The man paused. Gibbs tightened his grip on the weapon so that it was painful; his fingers dug into every groove and curve of the metal and he grit his teeth together, setting his jaw roughly. He knew the man was armed—

The man said something in a quiet deadly voice and when he turned around, he was already firing form the machine gun hidden beneath his suit coat.

The shots exploded in Gibbs' ears, echoing dangerously around him—whipping perilously close to him—but Gibbs stood still and fired two shots into the shooter's chest. The shooter dropped; and without flinching, Gibbs finished him off with a double-tap to the forehead, a feeling of aggressive satisfaction washing over him when the terrorist sprawled dead on the carpet of the President's plane.

Kate came out of the President's quarters, her gun raised.

Slowly, Gibbs lowered his, using all of his strength to conceal the shaking that was racking his hands. He tried not to think about the rapid machine gun fire that had come so close to taking him away from Madeleine without her ever really knowing how much she meant to him.

He kicked the weapon away from the terrorist, and stood in front of Kate, glaring at her with an unreadable expression. She looked shocked; breathless. Gibbs swallowed hard and turned around to take control of the scene. He felt like he couldn't breathe. His vision blurred. The only plane he gave a damn about being on right now was a plane to Israel.

* * *

><p>Jenny put a finger to her lips pleadingly as her partner slipped into the room. Madeleine was asleep, and the little girl had been in an unmanageable mood all day; Jenny desperately wanted her to stay asleep.<p>

Ziva David nodded and took a seat opposite Jenny in the redhead's living room, gingerly moving over a few stuffed animals. She leaned forward on her hands and knees and looked at Jenny in silence. Jenny leaned forward, closing the file she had in her hands.

"Were you able to find anything out?" she asked the Israeli quietly.

"Yes," Ziva said in the same hushed tone. She looked conflicted. "It is," she paused. "Jenny, divulging any of the information that Ari feeds to me to anyone other than the Director is considered treason," she said tightly.

"I understand," Jenny said quickly. She reached out and touched Ziva's hand. "Ziva, if you aren't able to—"

"No," Ziva hushed her partner. "You have a child with him, Jenny, you deserve to know," the brunette said. "I simply remind you of my position because," she looked at Jenny intently. "There may come a day when I require you to feed me information," she said. "And I may need you to do so with no questions asked."

Jenny nodded.

"You have my word," she said. She took a deep breath. "Ziva," she said shakily. "What happened in the States?"

"Ari confirmed that there was an al-Qaeda threat against President Bush," Ziva said. "A cell he was working with began celebrating too early, and he learned of the plan very late," she explained. "They were intent on hijacking Air Force One, murdering your President, and crashing the plane."

Jenny covered her mouth.

"They were stopped," Ziva said. "Naturally, or the chatter mediums would not be so quiet—nor would the international news mediums. Through his line of contacts, Ari has been able to confirm that the threat was neutralized. The terrorist was gunned down about six hours ago, and though the American media is crediting the FBI with the kill, Ari's sources are accusing NCIS."

Jenny stared at Ziva.

She blinked, lowered her head into her hands.

"Tali said Jethro was working a case with Air Force One," she murmured to herself. She looked up in disbelief. "Are you trying to tell me that Jethro shot a terrorist on the President's private jet?"

Ziva leaned back.

The corner of her mouth turned up just a little, in a rare show of amusement.

"According to Mossad gossip," she drawled.

Jenny stared at her and spread her palms out, narrowing her eyes.

"How the _hell_ am I supposed to live with him after a stunt like that?"

Ziva's eyebrows shot up. The Israeli remained silent for a moment, and then laughed.

"You are not glad he is safe?" she asked curiously.

"Oh, I am," Jenny said, waving her hand. "He's just," she rolled her eyes. "Ziva, you won't understand—he's never going to shut-up about it," Jenny groaned.

Ziva snorted, leaning back, relaxing a little.

Jenny leaned back herself, tilting her head back. She laughed—but she was relieved. Now she just had to wait for him to wrap up the case, and call.

* * *

><p>He couldn't believe how damn long it was taking to process this crime scene. Even when they had landed, no one had been allowed to deplane. It seemed like days later that they were finally wrapping up, and Gibbs and Agent Todd's boss were bitching about the load of paperwork that they were going to be up to their noses in.<p>

Paperwork Gibbs was determined to be taking with him to Israel.

"Agent Todd told me about her and Major Kerry when she tendered her resignation," Agent Baer mentioned casually.

Gibbs looked up, stopping. He put away his notes on the case, for a moment distracted from his thoughts about Jenny and Madeleine.

"You accepting?" he asked.

"Of course," Baer answered bluntly, clearly disappointed to lose her. "She broke the rules," he paused briefly, and then went on. "Well, thank you Special Agent Gibbs," he said sincerely, extending his hand.

Gibbs shook the Secret Service agent's hand amiable, giving him a brief nod in return.

"No, sir," he said, a spontaneous thought occurring to him. "Thank you," he retorted, taking the steps off of Air Force One at a bit of a run. He looked around, and caught sight of Agent Todd walking away from the plane.

He started off slowly, giving the thought a minute to sink in. He had been told to pick another team member almost three years ago. Jenny harassed him about it once and a while, and lately, Morrow—feeling the stress of Gibbs' frequent requests for leave—had been pushing the issue. Gibbs had been reluctant to fill Jenny's shoes—he could barely tolerate DiNozzo sometimes.

This woman, though; she had potential. There was no reason for her to throw away skills because of a foolish romantic mistake. He knew that better than anyone. Affairs of the heart, while messy, often lead to some of the best opportunities.

His mind made up, he jogged after her.

"I heard you quit, Agent Todd," he yelled.

"Happy news gets around fast," she responded dully. "Yes, I resigned. It was the right thing to do."

He fell into step beside her for a moment, glancing briefly at his watch to make sure he had the time right.

"Yep," he agreed simply. "Pull that crap at NCIS, and I won't give you a chance to resign," he warned, ducking under a yellow caution bar.

He smirked to himself. He could warn her of that without feeling like a hypocrite; he knew best of all that relationships between agents could complicate things—even if it was for the better.

She felt him staring at her, trying to work it out.

"Is that a job offer?" she called after him.

He didn't answer her, primarily because he thought the answer obvious. Her timing perfect, Noemi pulled up just as he was walking out to the street, and he opened the passenger door, thanking her gruffly for doing him this favor.

She handed him an envelope with a smile.

"_Si_, it no problem, _Senor_," she insisted warmly. "I put your bag in the back. Your plane is in two hour, and I did not tell _Senora_," Noemi beamed at him.

Gibbs slung his seatbelt on and tilted is head back, letting out a breath. He thanked God for Noemi. Without her, he probably wouldn't be able to make the three a.m. flight out of Dulles to Tel Aviv. She had come through for him, though, and when she dropped him off at the airport, he'd have twelve hours to sleep before he surprised Jenny and Madeleine in the morning.

He'd deal with Special Agent Caitlin Todd's probationary paperwork from Mossad.

* * *

><p>Gibbs stood outside of Jenny's apartment around ten o'clock, wide-awake and refreshed from sleeping the entire flight. He unlocked her door with his key quietly and peeked in, checking to see if she was in the living room. She wasn't, but as he came in silently and shut the door behind him, he could hear her in Madeleine's room.<p>

"Madeleine," he heard her sigh in frustration, "I said five more minutes," Jenny snapped. "Get off the rocking horse before I drag you off of it myself."

She sounded tired. Madeleine giggled and protested.

"Child, if you keep making the wrong choices, I'm going to stop giving you any," Jenny threatened with finality.

Gibbs dropped his bag on the floor and walked into Madeleine's room.

"Think you better listen to your Mom, M," he said seriously. "She sounds serious."

Jenny jumped at the sound of his voice and stared at him. She gasped and her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes widening in shock. She mumbled his name into her hands and then ran forward, slamming into his chest with a shriek.

"Oh my God," she gasped, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. She let out her breath in a rush and laughed, pressing a warm kiss to his shoulder. "I thought you wouldn't be able to make it," she murmured breathlessly.

He lowered his head to her shoulder, hugging her back just as tightly. He pressed his hand against the back of her neck to keep her close and breathe her in; he felt the way he used to when he'd come back from a deployment. It was a relieved, calming, _good_ feeling.

Gibbs kissed Jenny's cheek and opened his eyes, looking over her shoulder. He smirked to see his arrival had succeeded in getting Madeleine off the rocking chair. She stood by it, as tall as its head now, and looked at him with wide, observant green eyes. He lifted his hand and waved at her, just as Jenny stepped back and turned to look for her daughter. She tilted her head and beckoned at Madeleine.

"Come say hi," she said happily. "Come on, Madeleine, it's Daddy—here," Jenny took a few steps past Jethro and turned on the overhead lights, making everything brighter and easier to see compared to the glow of the two lamps the room had been cast in. "Here, you can see him better now—remember?"

Gibbs sidestepped Jenny and crouched down to Madeleine's level.

"Yeah, she remembers me," he said confidently, giving her a friendly smile. He held one hand out passively with the palm up. Madeleine let go of the rocking horse's handle and walked over, hiding her hands bashfully behind her back. She looked at his palm interestedly and then placed her hand in it.

Gibbs swallowed hard and slowly shifted from crouching to kneeling. He knew it had been a good nine months since he'd seen her, but he hadn't been prepared for Madeleine to look so different—he hadn't been prepared for her to look this much like Kelly. Her eyes were as green and expressive as Jenny's, but everything else—her cheeks, the shape of her nose, her little ears, and the chestnut, brownish colour of her hair.

She smiled at him, and her cheeks dimpled slightly and her eyes squinted a little, so she looked like a cute, sleepy puppy, and that reminded him of Kelly, too.

"You're so big," he said in a carefully controlled voice. He reached out and touched her longer hair, patting her shoulder gently. "Look at your hair."

Madeleine smiled at him. She looked at Jenny. Jenny beamed. Madeleine looked back at Jethro.

"_Aba_?" she said, only a little uncertainly.

He nodded, holding her hand.

"_Ima_ say you miss me," Madeleine mumbled bashfully, twirling a little. She covered her eyes with her free hand and peeked through them. "Yes you do?" she asked.

Gibbs nodded again. He leaned forward and picked her up, standing back up easily. He hugged the three-year-old and closed his eyes, his hand shaking as he ruffled her hair affectionately and kissed her on the forehead.

"Yes," Gibbs agreed. "Yes, I miss you."

Madeleine wrinkled her nose with a smile and nodded, content to let him hold her. She blinked at the lights and looked around, her small hands gripping Jethro's shoulders tightly. He narrowed his eyes, still shell-shocked by how much she'd grown and how much she looked like his other daughter, and he was ashamed to find himself hoping—since her similarity to Kelly was due to his genes—that she would grow up to look more like Jen.

Jenny cleared her throat.

"Madeleine," she said apologetically. "I know you're excited to see Daddy," she began, "but Becca will be here early to take you to ice skating! It really is bedtime. "

Madeleine looked reluctant. She looked at Gibbs and frowned.

"No bed," she whined, shrinking away from Jenny. "Hate bed."

Jenny clicked her tongue. She reached out and rubbed Madeleine's back.

"I promise you Daddy will be here when you wake up," she said earnestly. "He might even go with you and Becca if you ask very, very sweetly," she coaxed.

Madeleine twisted to look at Gibbs hopefully.

"Will you, please?" she asked politely.

Completely ignorant of what they were talking about, Gibbs just nodded. He'd agree to just about anything Madeleine wanted right now. The three-year-old beamed and hugged him, placing a kiss on his cheek. She lifted her hand from his shoulder and waved, turning to let Jenny take her away.

"Tell him goodnight," Jenny said.

"_Leila tov_," Madeleine said obediently.

"Night, sweetheart," Gibbs said, touching her nose gently. Jenny bent to let Madeleine down on the floor and tapped her on the bottom playfully.

"Go brush your teeth," Jenny said. "Brush 'em good," she reminded Madeleine, as the child ran towards the bathroom contently.

Jenny cocked her head and made sure she heard the faucet turn on before she turned to Jethro and stepped closer. She furrowed her brow, lowering her voice.

"Jethro," she asked hesitantly. "Are you okay?"

He eyed her guardedly, trying to figure out why she'd asked.

"Fine," he grunted.

"You're pale," Jenny pointed out, cringing. She reached up and pressed her fingertips to the side of his face. "What is it?" she asked slowly.

He rubbed his mouth in frustration and shook his head. He left the nursery, glancing through the open bathroom door to see Madeleine's back as she messily brushed her teeth. He sat down on the living room couch and leaned forward on his knees.

Jenny perched on the armrest and cocked her head at him, folding her hands in her lap patiently.

"She looks just like her, Jen," Gibbs admitted after a moment.

He didn't see any reason to withhold information from Jenny when she was so obviously aware that this was getting to him.

"Kelly?" Jenny asked carefully.

He nodded.

Jenny looked over at Madeleine, watching her brush her teeth according to an hourglass that counted down the dentist-recommended two minutes. She reached out and placed her hand against Jethro's back.

"I'm sorry," she said gently.

Gibbs laughed. He surprised himself. He raised an eyebrow at Jenny.

"Don't apologize," he said, shrugging. "Not _your_ fault." He looked after Madeleine, too, his eyes focused unsteadily on her clipped-back brown hair. He smirked painfully and looked back down at his knees. "It's me that gives 'em the same look," he muttered.

He realized he'd never given a thought to how much Kelly looked like him until he noticed how much Madeleine looked like Kelly—and then it was pretty obvious that they both had a lot of his features.

Gibbs reached up and shoved the heels of his palms into his eyes until his skull ached. He didn't understand why he was this dangerously close to losing it like he'd lost it the night of their funeral. Madeleine had been his for three years now, and he hadn't felt the loss this sharply before.

"Jethro," Jenny teased softly. "You always have to be dominant over me, is that it? I can't even have a _little_ say in what our daughter looks like?" she clicked her tongue, standing up. She crouched in front of him, placing her hands on his knees warmly.

After scrutinizing him a moment, she reached up and took his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face slowly. His eyes were bloodshot and raw. He shook his head stiffly, pleading with her to let him hide his face again.

"Jethro," she said, touching his cheek. "It's okay."

He grabbed her hand and turned his head, kissing her palm. He stared ahead of him to the other side of the room.

"_Ima_," Madeleine said breathlessly, running up to them. She leaned against Gibbs' knee and bared her teeth at Jenny. "All done good?" she asked, swaying Gibbs' leg back and forth.

"Beautiful," Jenny agreed promptly. "Ready for bed?"

"_Aba_ is okay?" Madeleine asked perceptively.

Jenny slipped her hand away from his cheek and Gibbs turned back around abruptly, nodding his head comfortingly at Madeleine. She grasped the armrest and crawled up into his lap, smiling at him with her dimples and her green eyes.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he said seriously. He poked her in the ribs in a playful way and she giggled, curling up like a cat.

"Kiss him goodnight again," Jenny said, standing up. She folded her arms and waited, nodding her head. She tapped her own nose. "Right on the nose like you kiss Mommy."

Gibbs wrinkled his nose obediently, closed his eyes, and waited. He peeked at her seriously and she snickered, sitting forward to follow Jenny's orders. She kissed him sweetly and stood on his knee, giving him a hug.

"Whoa!" he growled, pretending to be surprised. "Emmy, you're too strong," he whined playfully, acting as if her hug was too tight. She gasped and let go and he just grabbed her back and swept her into a cradle, smirking at her.

"Tricked you," he said smugly, leaning over to gnash his teeth at her in a mock-attack.

"_Aba_!" she squealed, squirming to get away.

"Jethro," groaned Jenny. "You're getting her all hyped up."

Gibbs rolled his eyes dramatically at Madeleine.

"Moms ruin all the fun."

Jenny smacked him in the shoulder.

Madeleine covered her face and giggled.

"No bed," she said through her fingers.

Gibbs nodded solemnly and looked up at Jenny, apparently recovered. He jutted out his bottom lip uncharacteristically in a pitiful pout.

"Can we stay up?" he asked seriously.

Jenny sighed, putting a hand on her hip.

"Jethro," she groaned, raising her eyebrows. "Are we _really_ going to do this?

* * *

><p>She wasn't used to waking up next to Jethro, but she wasn't complaining, either. His visit was not timely, as the change of plans he'd had to make meant she no longer had a semi-clear schedule—she didn't care, though. It meant a lot to her that he had still made it his priority to get here. So when she woke up fifteen minutes before her alarm and discovered Madeleine was still asleep, she considered it a well-deserved blessing. Keeping up with a three-year-old was exhausting.<p>

Running operations with Mossad and managing an NCIS operational team _while_ keeping up with a three-year-old _and_ attempting to keep said child's father a part of the picture was even more exhausting.

Jenny brushed her hair back from her face with her hand and leaned over Gibbs, lowering her mouth to his chest. She kissed him languidly, touching her forehead to his skin and breathing in and out slowly. He took a minute to respond, but when she woke him up, he wrapped and arm around her waist and yanked her down closer to him, his eyes still closed.

"Mmm," he muttered thickly. "Morning," he grumbled.

"Morning," she mumbled back, her face buried in his neck. She sighed comfortably, relishing the moment. It was warm in the room; the sun was already piercing through the windows and heating everything—like Israeli sun was wont to do.

Jenny tossed her head and propped her cheek on her palm, stretching out next to him.

Jethro rubbed his face and looked at her, blinking sleep away. He yawned and glanced at the clock on her wall, clearing his throat. His brow furrowed.

"What did I agree to go to today?" he asked gruffly.

"Ice skating," Jenny answered. "Madeleine has her lessons on Thursday mornings, and then Becca usually takes her to the playground and out for ice cream."

"Ice skating," muttered Jethro.

Jenny nodded.

"Mmm-hmm," she murmured. "I might have told you she had one of Israel's World Champions come to her Montessori school to take them to the rink? Madeleine loved it. It was right after her third birthday," Jenny explained.

"I remember," said Gibbs. He furrowed his brow. "Lessons? She's three."

Jenny shrugged.

"It's nothing intense, just a class of little kids hopping around on some ice with a former Olympic medalist," she said. Jenny wrinkled her nose. "It's made her so graceful. _Madeleine_ could be in the _Olympics_ someday."

Gibbs grunted.

"Ice skating," he muttered, narrowing his eyes. "She could get hurt."

"She's three years old," Jenny scoffed. "She hurts herself all the time. Don't worry too much, Jethro," Jenny said soothingly. "I always kiss it better."

He rubbed her back lightly, his hand skating up and down her spine, reveling in the feel of her soft skin. He nodded, accepting her words. He supposed Kelly could have gotten hurt just as easily horseback riding. It had just never occurred to him with Kelly; yes, he had worried that something would happen to her—but it had been from a detached standpoint; a 'that won't happen to me and my family' standpoint.

"Becca is her nanny?" Jethro asked.

Jenny nodded.

"Rebecca Assad," she said. "She's a godsend. Madeleine loves her."

Gibbs racked his brains for a minute.

"She's the student," he said slowly.

"You picked her," Jenny reminded him. He nodded, remembering when they'd discussed the issue right after Madeleine's surgery.

"She talk to Maddie in Hebrew?"

"She doesn't speak English well at all," Jenny said. She shrugged. "It's that, or Arabic, and I _hardly_ want a tri-lingual little monster running around."

Gibbs laughed. He pulled Jenny close again and rolled onto his side, lowering his mouth to hers tranquilly. She pressed her palms against his neck and smirked, lazily enjoying the kiss. She calculated that they had a few more minutes to enjoy being alone in a way they hadn't been since a place called Paris.

"When do you go back?" Jenny asked, tilting her head up. Her nose brushed his and he pressed his forehead to hers, rubbing her ankle with his foot.

"Friday. Next, not tomorrow."

Her eyebrows went up. She let out a breath.

"Not bad," she complimented. She kissed him again, closing her eyes. After a lingering moment, she sighed, and bit her lower lip, peering at him through her lashes. "We've got some things to discuss."

"I know," he said gruffly.

He remembered her promise to make some decisions by the time Madeleine was three years old just as acutely as she did. At the time she had asked him to give her time, he had agreed, and hadn't considered the issues it was going to raise when the time came.

Jethro leaned in to kiss her again, holding her shoulder possessively, considering those issues intensely just about now. It occurred to him that they would have to answer some questions about their relationship; questions that they had allowed to hang since they had started sleeping together again. He was going to have to address the words she'd mumbled to him on a sleepy night a year ago—and he needed to be prepared to face his response.

* * *

><p>"Let me get this straight," newly instated NCIS Special Agent Caitlin Todd stood at the entrance of the unfamiliar bullpen, holding a box of her personal effects. "He hires me, arranges for me to be pushed through the usual waiting period so I can start working immediately, and then he isn't even here on my first day?"<p>

Anthony DiNozzo patted his hand on the empty desk across from his.

"You got it, sweet cheeks," he said, wiggling his eyebrows. "You're stuck with me until Friday."

"Great," Kate grumbled with a scowl, setting her box down on the desk. She placed her badge and her shiny new Sig Saur near the desk lamp and looked over at Leroy Jethro Gibbs' empty desk, frowning still.

DiNozzo crossed his arms, watching her eagerly. He was excited that Gibbs had hired another agent; it meant more help and less draining nights and weekend shifts. It was just a happy bonus that Gibbs apparently knew how to pick 'em. The new girl was pretty, feisty, and unafraid of Gibbs—and Tony couldn't wait to see how _that_ was going to play out.

Kate pointed at Gibbs' desk.

"It just doesn't make sense that he would be so adamant that I begin immediately, and then take off on a mysterious vacation," she said.

"That?" Tony asked, lifting his brows. "You'll get used to that. Gibbs disappears periodically," he explained, snorting. "One day he's here, slave-driving us through coffee-infused sleepless nights, and the next day he's off prancing through la-la land. Or wherever he goes on his random sabbaticals."

Kate gave DiNozzo a skeptical look.

"I hardly believe that," she scoffed. "He doesn't seem like the type. I got the impression he was married to his work."

"Well, if we're talking marriage, then he's definitely the type to give up once in a while," Tony snorted, relishing the opportunity to make fun of Gibbs without fear of head slap.

Kate gave him a quizzical look. Tony held up two fingers.

"Married twice," he clarified. "And the second one hates him. _Hates_ him," he reiterated.

"I can't imagine Gibbs getting on anyone's bad side," Kate said sarcastically. She sat down at her desk and began unpacking items neatly, rolling them out of bubble wrap. Tony decided to refrain from mocking her right away. He wanted to lull her into a false sense of security.

She looked up curiously.

"Where does he go when he disappears?" she asked.

Tony shrugged.

"Don't know. You should ask him."

"Now why do I feel like that's a bad idea?" Kate asked skeptically.

"You're a smart girl, Katie," DiNozzo drawled.

"I'm a woman, DiNozzo," she snapped. "And _don't_ call me Katie."

DiNozzo grinned dashingly and waltzed over to take a seat at Gibbs' desk. He lounged back and watched Agent Todd unpack, propping his shoes up on the boss's desk. Kate looked over at him, her eyes narrow.

"Who is in charge while Gibbs is on leave?" she asked.

"I am," he answered smugly.

Kate scowled and went back to unpacking, muttering under her breath. DiNozzo grinned. He had never worked with females before—not on the force, at least. Women had been rare around Baltimore, Philly, _and_ Peoria.

This was going to be fun.

* * *

><p>Gibbs smiled indulgently as he watched his daughter twirl around the living room in front of him, carefully watching her so that he could intervene if it looked like she might spin into the coffee table or the side tables. Madeleine giggled and came to a sudden stop, flinging her arms out proudly.<p>

He immediately began to clap obediently and beckoned her forward, grinning at her.

"Pretty?" she asked.

He nodded, reaching out to hold her arms as she dashed up to him.

"Pretty," he agreed seriously.

"Practice," she said, the word childish and muddled in her toddler-ish way of speaking. "_Ima _told me more practice, it means less fall," she told him. She turned around and fell down into his lap, cradling her elbow. She frowned.

"Is it still hurting?" Gibbs asked curiously, glancing up as Madeleine's nanny walked into the room holding a cup of juice and a grilled cheese sandwich. Madeleine sighed and made a noise as if she were thinking.

"'Nother kiss," she decided, holding her elbow up to him.

Gibbs complied and pressed a kiss to her wounded elbow, standing her up as Becca set the plate down on the coffee table. Madeleine had fallen pretty hard during her lesson today, and Gibbs hadn't been able to convince her to get back on the ice.

"_Toda_, Rebecca," Gibbs said gruffly to the young girl, giving her a nod.

She smiled, patting Madeleine's head as Madeleine sat cross-legged on a pillow and pulled her lunch towards her. Rebecca reached up to touch her hijab self-consciously and then pointed at Madeleine's food, pursing her lips.

"You eat as well, Mister Gibbs?" she asked in sincere, halting English.

He shook his head.

"Nah, don't worry about it," he said. "I can get my own food. Go study, Rebecca," he encouraged; nodding towards the books she had on the kitchen table. She looked hesitant, but then nodded and disappeared.

Madeleine's nanny was sweet and Madeleine liked her, but she was very awkward when it came to interacting with Gibbs. She insisted on keeping her usual schedule because she was paid to, yet she had little to do when Gibbs was around because he wanted to be the caretaker. He usually gently just asked her to study her schoolwork unless Madeleine wanted to play with her.

"Becca is smart," Madeleine announced through a mouthful of grilled cheese. "She go to big kid school."

Gibbs nodded, supervising her lunch. Madeleine hummed to herself and tore her grilled cheese into pieces, eating it bit by bit instead of just like a normal sandwich. Gibbs shook his head in exasperation and smirked, arching an eyebrow.

"_Aba_," Madeleine said.

"Yes?" he drawled.

"You still have to go tomorrow?" she asked.

He frowned.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "Yeah, I do."

Madeleine said something in Hebrew. She stood up, picking up the uneaten half of her sandwich, and returned to sit on his lap, breaking it in half. She handed him some of it and chewed silently. Madeleine said something in Hebrew again and looked up at him. He frowned, furrowing his brow, and squinted. He shook his head.

"Um," she said, frowning. "You stay?" she asked.

He didn't know if that was what she'd said in Hebrew or not. He smiled sadly and ruffled her hair with his free hand. He bent forward and kissed the crown of her head, squeezing her shoulder gently.

"I wish I could, Emmy," he muttered sincerely. "Daddy has to go back to work."

"_Ima_ at work," Madeleine said brightly, tilting her head. "_Ima_ stay here."

Gibbs smiled. He nodded; she had a point. Madeleine smiled at him smugly and munched on her sandwich. She stood up, walked to get a drink of her juice, and then sat back down, this time crossing-her legs and facing him from the floor. She tilted her head.

"No stay?" she asked, frowning a little.

"No stay," he agreed. "I want to, Madeleine," he assured her. "I miss you when I'm gone."

"I know," she said seriously. "_Ima_ says so," she held her hand to her ear and cupped it. "Talk on phone," she told him.

"Whenever you want to," he said, nodding.

She stared at him thoughtfully and scooted closer, patting his knee nicely. She smiled at him warmly, and he smiled back, glad it hadn't been as painful of a conversation this time. She was comfortable with him, but he got the feeling that they didn't have as much a father-daughter relationship as they should.

He still felt like an outsider in her world; he felt like he was a novelty who showed up once and a while—who she had been taught to be sweet to and to call 'Daddy' without really understanding the meaning behind the word.

"Hey, Maddie," he said, leaning forward seriously. He put his hand under her chin and held her head up, eyeing her seriously. "Can you show me your routine again? And promise me you'll get back on the ice next week, even if you fall again?"

Madeleine cocked her head and then nodded, scrambling up.

"Okay, Dada," she said, putting her hands on her hips seriously. "But you say to _Ima_ that I may have a puppy," she informed him, scampering away to practice her simple ice dance routine again.

Gibbs smirked proudly and leaned back, taking a bite out of the grilled cheese she'd shared with him.

* * *

><p>She sat in frustrated silence as she listened to the Director argue in Arabic with someone on the other line. The room was rife with tension; no one was happy. Jenny leaned forward, shoving her forehead into her palm, and bit the inside of her cheek harshly, shaking her head.<p>

"No," she growled, the moment the Director started speaking. "Agent Culum—"

"It is difficult enough to put up with the constant _habit_ Mossad has of leaving us in the dark, Shepard!" barked the lead Cairo NCIS agent, cutting her off again. "Are you representing NCIS or are you one of the Israeli's lapdogs?"

"This is a _partnership_, Culum," barked Jenny angrily, lashing out at him. "You and Donavan have had an incredibly long leash in Cairo up until now, there is no need for this type of insubordination when it matters most!"

"Your authority doesn't come across as very imposing when you're hundreds of miles away," Culum fired back nastily.

"My authority comes directly from Morrow," Jenny responded icily. "I suggest you do as instructed unless you wish me to bring him into this petty squabbling."

"It isn't something I'd consider petty, Shepard—"

"Quiet," Eli David broke in sharply. "This operation was initiated with the understanding that NCIS would back off the moment Mossad asked them to," he spoke in Arabic again, and someone on Culum's side of the line answered him. "The officer we have working in your field does not seem so put out by his distance from his agency; why can you and Agent Donovan not reconcile yourselves with Jenny's far-reaching authority?"

"Half of us have never worked with her; what you're suggesting sounds like suicide!" barked Culum. "We've got agents here with children, with families to go home to!" He swore under his breath. "If your plan doesn't work, I'll be sending fathers home in body bags—and I don't think Shepard understands the horror of a parent never seeing a child again!"

Eli David's conference office fell into silence. All eyes were on Jenny; the redhead felt Jenny's calculating look most. Jenny swallowed and shook her head. Eli leaned forward, placing his hand down.

"On the contrary—" he began.

"Eli," snarled Jenny. She shook her head sharply. Her daughter was not going to be used in a cross-continent power struggle with a misogynistic, asshole of an agent. She leaned forward. "Agent Culum. You will carry out your part of this operation as instructed, or you will hand in your resignation to Director Morrow by this time tomorrow. Is that understood?"

Silence on the other line. Then:

"Understood, Shepard," he said venomously. "Regardless of the career track you're on, you aren't the director yet, _madam_," he added sharply—and then the line went dead, and she was left alone in the conference room off of Eli David's office, surrounded by Mossad officers who were no doubt questioning her ability to control her own employees.

Eli scoffed quietly.

"We all have our off days," he teased silkily, gathering some papers up. He slipped his glasses onto his nose. "Shepard, you'll update me tomorrow on the status of your agents in Cairo," he ordered bluntly. "We'll have more time to fine-tune the operation as your," he paused, and smirked "_concubine_ will be returning to the United States."

Jenny rolled her eyes, gathering her things together.

"Are we finished?"

"You are," Eli answered, dismissing her.

Jenny gathered her things, pushing her hair back. Ziva took her wrist and leaned back, lowering her voice so none of the others would hear.

"Tali wants to speak with you about the university applications," she murmured in her incredibly subtle, quiet way. She hesitated. "The Director has it on good authority that your promotion will take place in six months," she added casually, releasing Jenny's arm.

Jenny nodded, and left the room abruptly, exiting Eli's office and heading off towards the exit of the Mossad Complex. Her head throbbed and she was dehydrated. That meeting hadn't gone as planned—and she had been waiting to hear if she was going to be given the promotion she'd heard whispers of, or if it was simply a rumor.

Jethro was leaving tomorrow, and they had naturally waited until the very last night to discuss their future.

* * *

><p>Jenny swept her glasses off of her face and got up, pushing away the documents she'd been editing. She left the glasses on top of her desk and smiled, looking down at her daughter. The three-year-old was trying her best to stay awake and colour pictures quietly, but her head was down on the colouring book and her hand was moving sluggishly as her eyes drooped.<p>

"Madeleine," Jenny said softly, glancing at Gibbs as she crouched down. "Madeleine, it's time for bed," she said apologetically, stroking Madeleine's hair off of her forehead.

"No, _Ima_," murmured Madeleine in a slurred protest, frowning.

Jenny smiled, and gently removed a purple crayon from the little girl's hand, reaching out to pick her up. Madeleine glared sleepily at Jenny, crossing her arms haughtily as she found herself cuddled into the cradle of her mother's arms.

"Stay awake with _Aba_," Madeleine insisted.

She yawned, and Jenny laughed.

"Honey, you couldn't stay awake if you tried," she teased, wrinkling her nose. "Come on, we'll kiss him goodnight and say goodbye," she coaxed. Madeleine blinked at her and nodded, too tired to be much of a problem. It was already two and a half hours past her bedtime.

Jenny stepped around the table Madeleine had been colouring on and swung her upright, touching her feet to the couch next to Gibbs. Madeleine wriggled out of Jenny's grip and tiptoed over the cushions onto Gibbs' lap, smiling at him lethargically. She put her small hands on his shoulders and he reached up to clasp them, smiling back.

"I have to go sleep," she informed him.

He nodded.

"It was nice of your mom to let you stay up so late," he said solemnly.

Madeleine looked at him thoughtfully, and then nodded.

"Nice," she agreed. Jenny snorted. Madeleine sighed and leaned forward, touching her forehead to Gibbs'. "_Leila tov, Aba_," she cooed obediently. She puckered her lips and kissed him on the nose—and giggled.

"Madeleine, talk to Daddy in English," Jenny instructed.

"Night," Madeleine said promptly. "Night-Night."

"Night," he answered. He smiled at her and leaned forward to hug her tightly, resting his palm on the back of her head. "Bye-bye, M," he said gruffly. "Miss you," he leaned back and chucked her under the chin affectionately. "Love you."

Madeleine crinkled her nose.

"I love _you_," she whispered secretively. Gibbs grinned at her, and Jenny smiled, reaching out for the sleepy preschooler and picking her back up. She held Madeleine on her hip and arched an eyebrow at Gibbs.

"Still want to sit out on bedtime?" she asked.

He nodded, shrugging.

"Makes it easier," he said.

Jenny's lips turned up half-heartedly and she nodded. She turned to take Madeleine to bed, and Gibbs got up, strolling over to where she kept the alcohol and glasses. He pulled two clean tumblers out of a cabinet and unscrewed the cap mechanically, pouring a couple shots into each glass. He figured it would take about ten minutes for Jenny to settle Madeleine down for the night, and he'd take the time alone to brace himself for whatever was about to happen when they discussed their situation.

Madeleine had been allowed to stay up much later tonight as it was Gibbs' last night in Israel; they had made the most of the time with a movie right after supper, a game of hide-and-seek with Jenny when she'd taken a break from work, and an exhausting amount of colouring in Madeleine's beloved colouring books.

It was frustrating to him that Jenny had put off the upcoming discussion until the last minute—it meant he might leave on bad terms—but it didn't altogether surprise him, either. After the stunt she'd pulled with the letter in the coat pocket, it wasn't entirely uncharacteristic of her to neglect to address their issues. He knew he was at fault, too, when it came to communication, but he also knew that they couldn't afford to be so fractured—not when they had Madeleine's well-being and happiness to think of.

It was about ten minutes before she returned to the living room, and he slowly extended her whiskey to her, taking a thoughtful sip of his own as she took the glass with a grateful look. Jenny rubbed her forehead and sighed.

"She'll be cranky tomorrow," the redhead murmured, shrugging. She swallowed a mouthful of whiskey and blinked, tapping her nail against the glass. She smiled a little. "Worth it, though, right?" she asked wryly, her voice hoarse.

Gibbs snorted, raising his eyebrows. He sure as hell considered the extra time with his daughter worth it. He waited a moment, looking at her intently, and she reached up with her free hand, pushing her hair back. She moved her lips, frowning, and pushed her shoulders back, giving him a resigned look.

"I know, Jethro," she said tensely. "I'm getting there," she muttered, downing the rest of her drink. She placed the empty tumbler down, and shook her head when he began to offer her more.

She took a deep breath.

"Jethro, I need you to be honest with me," Jenny said bluntly. "What are you expecting me to say?"

He wasn't expecting such a bold-faced question, so all he could do for a moment was stare into her resolved, bright green eyes and fumble for the words to respond with whatever _she_ was expecting _him_ to say to that. He narrowed his eyes, attempting to ignore the creeping sense of distaste that nagged at his gut. In an instant, he knew this was going to be an ugly conversation.

"Jen," he growled, warning her.

"Jethro," she shot right back. "It will be easier if I know your expectation, I promise you," she said firmly. "That way I can brace myself if we're about to tear each other up," she paused, crossing her arms. "You never have given a clear indication of what you wanted, anyway."

He nodded tightly after a moment. She had a point—he had made it clear he hated their situation; this constant longing to see Madeleine, the distance between himself and Jenny, all of the chaos and uncertainties. She was right in that he'd never proposed anything different—because he didn't know what the right answer was.

"You said you'd make some decisions," he said slowly, testing the waters. "Figured that meant somewhere safer, closer," he paused, and then set his jaw, giving up. He looked at her seriously; she should know exactly what he wanted. "Jen, I thought you'd be back stateside. I thought I'd see her more than two damn times a year."

She nodded, her eyes still on his. She took a deep breath, squeezing her own elbow.

"Okay," she said, breathing out calmly. "And I knew you felt that way, so we're on the same page," she murmured.

"I don't think we are," he said abruptly.

She looked at him guardedly.

He set his glass down and glared at her.

"Are you about to tell me you're staying in Israel, Jenny?" he asked directly. The inquiry demanded an exact answer and she uncrossed her arms, reaching up to cradle her forehead for a moment.

"Jethro—"

"Answer me," he interrupted shortly.

She looked trapped.

"Yes," she said tightly. "It's more complicated than that."

"Goddamnit, Jen," he swore.

She threw her arms out, tilting her head back a little.

"I know it's not what you _wanted_, Jethro, but I know you can't _really_ have thought I was going to sit you down and tell you I'm going to take a position in DC!"

"Is that an option?" he growled.

"No," she snapped. "No, it's not on the table."

He grit his teeth together and lifted his tumbler to his lips, drinking the rest of his bourbon. He roughly set the glass down, where it joined her empty one. She leaned one arm on the desk and sighed heavily, puckering her lips in annoyance.

"What is on the table?" Gibbs asked after a moment.

"I have a contract with Mossad until February," she said matter-of-factly. "I have _orders_ to be here from the Director," she bit her lip briefly. "It's a crucial operative position as well as an instrumental political one, and my only out—the _only_ way out, Jethro, would be to resign as an NCIS employee or to _deliberately_ have myself dismissed."

She straightened up a little, frowning. She snorted derisively, letting out a tense breath.

"I don't think supporting a stay-at-home Mom is what you were expecting, either," she scoffed, exasperated.

In spite of himself, he smirked a little—the _last_ thing he could see Jenny as was a stay-at-home Mom. The very idea had him imagining all sorts of scenarios in which she lost her mind out of boredom and set the house (or worse, the boat) on fire.

Her lip turned up at the corner, too.

"Not a pleasant thought, is it?" she asked sarcastically.

"I don't want you to quit your job, Jen," he said seriously, holding his hand up. He sighed in frustration, giving her another look. "What comes after February?" he asked stiffly. "Another overseas promotion?"

She bit her lip, pacing a little. She pushed her hair back.

"I don't know," she said. "I don't have that kind of foresight; I don't know what Morrow is going to offer me next," she paused, and he sensed hesitation.

"But," he prompted curtly.

"But," she continued slowly, stopping and looking at him. "It's probably Cairo," she said.

"Cairo," he repeated. She nodded and he turned away, imitating her pacing. He sat down on the very edge of the couch and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, scrutinizing her. She held his gaze formidably, and he was glad she was still the same Jenny who wouldn't back down from a fight. He narrowed his eyes at her again.

"Cairo," he said again. "Meaning what, Jen?" he asked.

"Mossad will need to distance themselves from NCIS after the next few ops, just to ensure safety," she explained. "Eli's shifting focus to MI6 for a while, but NCIS would still need a strong foothold in the Middle East, particularly in Counterterrorism," Jenny took a deep breath and lowered her hand from her forehead. "If Morrow gets the funding he needs, there's a chance I'd be asked to head the division."

Taken aback, Gibbs raised his eyebrows—that was a damn impressive promotion, considering the short amount of time Jenny had been an agent. He reached up and rubbed his mouth, looking at her with a mixture of apprehension and fierce pride.

"That's a big deal, Jen," he said. He swore under his breath. She smiled a little, but bit her lip, her cheeks colouring.

"Yeah, it is," she breathed—and he could see it in her eyes, the desire for that position.

Suddenly he recognized it as the flame of ambition that he had often mistaken for passion in Paris. He grit his teeth, pressing his clenched knuckles against each other until the wrinkles were white.

"It's something we need," she said.

Gibbs sighed heavily, staring at her. He swallowed and shook his head, feeling desperate. He held out his hands again.

"What do you want me to say, Jen?" he asked bluntly. "They give you a division, and you could be in Cairo for good," he gave her a look of warning. "You don't want Madeleine growing up in all of this authoritarian instability any more than I do—and I'll be _damned_ if she starts school in _Egypt_," he growled.

"You're getting ahead of yourself," she stalled. "I don't even have the promotion yet—this is six months away, if it happens."

"Well, let's _get_ ahead of ourselves, Jenny," Gibbs barked, louder than he meant to. "Leaving it until the last minute isn't going to work this time!"

She leaned back, moving to perch on the edge of an armchair. She crossed her arms protectively under her breasts and her lips compressed in a tightly line. He could tell she was trying not to react defensively and lash out at him with aggression.

"You're right," she agreed tightly.

"When you finish up here, at Mossad," Gibbs said. "What's the other option? You could request a transfer to the states," he told her. It wasn't a question; both of them knew well it was true. She could easily finish up her work in Israel and, with that accomplishment under her belt, ask to be handed a position anywhere in the States.

"Yes, I very well could," she admitted. She sighed, rubbing her forehead again. "They'd want me as an analyst," she said slowly. "Jethro, there's a shortage of agents in Europe, but there's an overflow in the States, especially in DC—I'd end up in LA, _maybe_, stuck at a desk."

She could tell the moment she stopped talking that that idea didn't bother him at all. If Jethro had his say, she'd be safe behind a desk, trapped in a cubicle, for the rest of her career—not because he begrudged her success, but because she knew it made him sick to think he might lose her like he'd lost Shannon and Kelly.

"California is better than halfway across the world," Gibbs growled. "Jen, has it occurred to you that you might have to make a damn sacrifice for Madeleine? You might not get your precious _career_?" he sneered aggressively.

Her eyes flashed.

"You've told me before that you understood the drive—you were a Marine, and I don't think Shannon spent her days demanding you give up a job you loved," she lashed out, her face turning pale and her eyes swimming with regret as soon as she said the words.

He looked like he'd been smacked for a moment, but he recovered quickly and pointed at her roughly, his features darkening angrily.

"Being a Marine was my job, Jenny—I'm not asking you to give up your job—"

"No? What do you call it, then?" she demanded nastily.

"I said you might need to sacrifice your _career_," he snapped, his voice rising. "You might need to turn down a damn _promotion_ and think about what's best for our daughter instead of keeping your eyes on the prize and trying to prove yourself!"

She gasped, her breath catching in her throat. Her lips moved for a moment and then she leaned forward, clenching her fist on her knee.

"I don't see you offering to move over here, Jethro!" she shouted hoarsely. "You haven't once considered the possibility that it might be easier for you to transfer—you can investigate crimes from _any_ NCIS base; I can't run counterterrorism operations from _California_—"

"Investigative positions like mine don't exist in Europe, Jen, it's all black ops and undercover work. That's what you're good at—that's your thing, and you are a damn good agent in your element," he complimented sincerely. He narrowed his eyes. "I don't do the politics and sneaking around, I get the dirt bags and put 'em in jail, plain and simple."

"Then you understand my dilemma!" she cried. "What you're saying, right there! How you can't turn your job on its head to accommodate me—that's what I'm trying to figure out, here! I'm not _deliberately_ trying to make you miserable, Jethro, I just _can't_ accommodate this ideal relationship you want!"

"Jenny," he growled, standing up. "What if something happens to you? What if you're killed?" he asked sharply; coldly. "What happens to Madeleine? I don't have custody of her—I don't even know if she'd get handed to Israeli Child Services or the US and you are in twice as much danger in this part of the world!"

"You're her father! They won't fight you if you take her," Jenny burst out—but he saw the fear flash through her eyes. She stood up, so as to better combat him—she glared into his eyes. "I don't know what you want me to do," she snapped in frustration. "Do you want me to turn down any promotion I'm offered? You want me in an office in Norfolk? You want me to _marry_ you?"

She threw her head back and laughed, reaching up to sweep angry, stressed tears from her eyes.

"That's how you seem to have solved problems in the past, until it blew up in your face," she said acidly.

His mouth tightened and he started forward, touching her shoulder. He didn't let her pace away from him; he looked at her good and hard. She glared back at him, her eyes wide and watery and red, and then she cringed, shaking her head.

"Jethro, this better not be some twisted way of you proposing," she choked, a sob escaping her lips.

He shook his head.

"Jen," he said over her, loud and firm. "Jen, I want you to be safe. I want to see my daughter on a regular basis, and I want her in a stable environment," he stopped, shrugging harshly. "I want her to be happy."

"You act like I don't," Jenny said hoarsely. She gestured desperately. "It's just going to take a while," she implored. "I can draw up papers that guarantee she's yours if something happens to me," she said weakly.

The room seemed suddenly sapped for energy and she sat back down heavily, her shoulders slumping. Gibbs sat down in the armchair next to her, resting his hand on her knee. He leaned forward a little, looking up at her. He reached for her hand, cringing at thoughts of losing Jenny.

She cradled her head in her free hand and moaned quietly.

"I never feel like I do anything right anymore," she admitted quietly. "I keep waiting for her to ask me why I'm so bad at this," she muttered, thinking of Madeleine.

"You're here for six more months," Gibbs said with finality. "That's set in stone," he paused and looked at her, his eyes guarded. "Jen, it isn't just Maddie I miss," he said, with some annoyance.

She looked at him through her fingers, smirking little.

"I miss you, too," she drawled, sniffling a little. She lifted her head and wiped her eyes again.

"Jenny," he said bluntly. "You said you loved me," he just threw it out there, as if it were nothing, and she turned a tense eye to him, shaking her head. She sighed heavily.

"God, Jethro," she swore. "I thought you were pretending you didn't hear that," she groaned tiredly.

There it was, then—she was aware that she'd said it to him, sluggishly, in her sleep so many visits ago. His brow furrowed and he arched one at her, pressing his hand against hers. She looked at him, and seemed to be scared into talking by his loaded silence.

"Yes, Jethro, I love you," she snapped, irritated. "You're Madeleine's father. It's some kind of binding _thing_ I can't explain—you _know_ I love you," she snapped again, "you _idiot_. That feeling didn't just _stop_ because our affair ended."

She bit her lip, and threw her arms up briefly, holding on to nothing else.

"I gave up trying to kill it a long time ago," she said, exhaustion evident in her words and in her green eyes. She shrugged. "If I didn't have Madeleine, then maybe I'd have gotten over it. But I have her, and she's made me realize that what I did in Paris was the wrong decision—but I can't change it. We have got to move forward."

Gibbs looked at her, his eyes narrow, his face unreadable. He stood up, leaned down, and kissed her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close to his chest. He rested his chin on the crown of her head and sighed heavily, his brow wrinkling. She reached up and gripped his arms, holding on to him tightly.

"Jethro," she said quietly, her lips moving against his chest. Her voice shook. "I'll look into other options," she promised. "It's a mess. I'll find a way to clean it up."

He rubbed her back comfortingly, losing a lot of his anger and resentment. He nodded, pressing his lips to her temple.

"We'll make it work, Jen," he muttered seriously.

He lifted his eyes to the ceiling and set his jaw. He felt as if they had gotten nowhere—that they were back to square one—yet at the same time, there was the sense that a weight had been lifted.

* * *

><p>Caitlin Todd dropped her bag on the floor next to her desk unceremoniously, her brow wrinkled with fatigue and frustration. She heard her mentor—or partner—or whatever the <em>hell<em> Anthony DiNozzo was to her while Gibbs was off on some unexpected, random vacation, slam a drawer shut at his desk and she looked up, glaring.

"Don't slam things around," she snapped.

"I'll slam whatever I want to slam, _Katie_," he retorted immediately, his voice brittle with the same tired annoyance as hers.

She bristled at the infantile nickname and grit her teeth.

"You're acting like a child," she growled.

"Yeah?" he retorted, with an expression that said he wished he were sticking his tongue out at her. "You're acting like a shrew."

Kate thought she was going to lose it. She resisted the urge to leap across her desk and smack him across his smug, pretty-boy, All-American face. She hadn't exactly taken a liking to the skirt-chasing Tony DiNozzo when she'd first met him on Air Force One, and joining NCIS to discover she'd be working solely with him until Gibbs returned from the—still unexplained!—hiatus he was on hadn't been pleasant. The worse part of a relatively stressful and unpleasant starter few weeks at NCIS had come when a case had required DiNozzo and herself to be trapped on a submarine, sharing a bunk, for almost a _week_.

At this point, she want nothing more than to retreat to her cozy little apartment near Capitol South, curl up under her warm, soft comforter, and sleep peacefully for a week—and then she was seriously considering going to the Secret Service and begging for her job back.

"You need to loosen up a little bit, Todd," snapped DiNozzo suddenly. "You wouldn't get so offended if you didn't take yourself so damn seriously."

"Maybe you should take yourself a little bit more seriously, DiNozzo," Kate fired back venomously. "Perhaps then you wouldn't be taken for such a womanizing, unintelligent, goofy, slut."

"You can't call a _man_ a slut!"

"Of course I can, you _sexist_!" Kate answered, outraged. She opened her mouth to launch into a tangent rooted in everything she'd ever learned in her Women and Gender Studies classes back in college, and Tony rolled his eyes, yanking his bag off of his desk and knocking things over with a clatter.

"Save it for the femi_nazi_'s meeting, Kate, I'm going home," he muttered, exhausted.

She glared at him, her eyes flashing.

"We have reports to write!" she said indignantly. "You can't just leave!"

"Who's stopping me?" He shot back stubbornly.

"I am."

Both of the squabbling, over-worked, frustrated agents turned around to find the mysteriously absent Agent Gibbs sitting at his desk with a cup of coffee, with a neutral, unabashed look fixed firmly on his face. He seemed unconcerned with the fact that he'd just slipped into the bullpen in an incredibly stealthy, almost creepy manner.

DiNozzo squeaked in surprise and dropped his bag.

"Boss!" he yelped. "When—how—what?" he spluttered.

Kate just stared at Gibbs, wide-eyed. He looked up at them both, an unreadable expression in his cold blue eyes.

"Go home. Pack a bag. Get two hours of sleep. Meet me back here," he ordered shortly.

"Why?" Kate asked, as Tony immediately began to obey without asking questions. DiNozzo shot her a warning look and shook his head. Gibbs studied Kate for a minute. He leaned back, holding his cup of coffee and considered ignoring her. Then, he answered:

"Got a lead on the case with the emeralds in the guy's intestines," he said gruffly. "We're going to Gitmo."

DiNozzo groaned.

"Boss, we just got back from somewhere under the sea!" he protested.

Agent Todd looked equally as put out by the announcement; her shoulders sagged, and she shot her colleague a look full of loathing.

Gibbs smirked coolly.

"Well, I guess it's time to fly," he remarked, turning away from both of them to access the updates, files, and information that Abby, Ducky, and the Director had compiled for him to catch up on. He heard the muted grumbling, complaining, and subtle bickering that came from his cocky agent and his newest agent and he ignored it—

-even if it was taken a considerable amount of energy to keep himself from telling them that he had a three-year-old in Israel who was more mature than they were.

* * *

><p>Jenny felt like the force of her glare, which had often reduced growly, chauvinistic former Marines to silence, was completely and utterly lost on her three-year-old daughter. This was the fourth time Madeleine had pushed her sippy-cup off of the table, and it was the third time the child had the nerve to snicker brazenly about it, point, and say "Mommy pick it up".<p>

Well, Jenny was tired of playing this game. She was tired of many things—for some ridiculous, immature reason she had thought that, as Madeleine got older, she would become easier to take care of, and she would suddenly understand how to behave herself exactly how Jenny wanted her to. The end of that particular notion had come to a sharp halt in the past few weeks.

Madeleine was lively, curious, and growing ever more talkative. She felt very, very safe with Jenny and at the Mossad Complex, and she could express herself—in her pre-schooler, childish way—whereas she could not when she was at ice-skating, or the Montessori school Jenny had her in three times a week.

As Jenny had taught her to be, around strangers, Madeleine was reserved, cautious, and introverted—but around Mommy, Madeleine was indefatigable. And Mommy was _very_ fatigued.

She leaned forward very slowly and picked up the cup, holding it in her hands. She looked her daughter in the eye.

"Madeleine Jane," she said firmly. "If you throw this one more time, I will put it away. I will not give it back. I will take away your cereal and put you down for a nap and I do not care if it's only noon," she said. "Do you understand me, Madeleine Jane?" she asked sharply.

Madeleine grinned beautifully. She reached for the cup. When Jenny didn't hand it to her instantly, she frowned a little.

"Yes," she said.

"Yes _what_?" asked Jenny.

Madeleine bit her lip. She smiled again.

"Yes, ma'am," she said. "_Ima_, give cup, please," she said nicely.

Jenny smiled. She sighed tiredly and placed the cup in Madeleine's hands, leaning back in her chair again. She reached for the files she had been looking over and picked up a pen, pushing her hair back and blowing air out through her lips.

"Finish your cereal, baby," she murmured, glancing over at the little girl.

Madeleine crinkled her nose and popped one of the marshmallows from her cereal into her mouth, giggling quietly. She smacked her lips and Jenny cringed at the irritating noise; she said nothing. She was swamped with analysis work, she missed Jethro like hell, and she just…she was just having a bad week when it came to the whole _motherhood_ shebang.

She fleetingly noted, as she glanced around, trying to regain her focus, that she needed to clean the apartment. She could easily pay Rebecca extra to do it, but she didn't like asking Rebecca to try and hold her life together. Rebecca was a nanny, not a maid, and Jenny did not want to abuse the young girl's kindness.

Jenny looked down at the files and cleared her throat, about to start reading again, when Madeleine's sippy cup flew across the table and spilled all over the her papers. Startled, and unbelievably angry at such a small thing, Jenny slammed her fist down on the table and turned sharply to her giggling, pink-cheeked daughter.

"Madeleine Jane Gibbs!" she barked, stunning the little girl into wide-eyed silence. "_What_ did I tell you?" she shouted.

Madeleine's face fell and she shrunk down in her booster seat. Jenny stood, looking down at the mess of apple juice soaking into some of Mossad's classified files. She gave a loud groan of frustration and kicked her chair away. She glared at Madeleine, her patience shot. Madeleine pointed.

"Pick it up," she said quietly.

Jenny snatched the bowl of cereal away and plopped it on the table, away from Madeleine's booster tray. She removed the tray, unbuckled Madeleine, and picked her up, swinging her onto her hip.

"Nap," she growled.

"No," Madeleine protested, her face crumpling. "No, I don't want to! NO!" she shouted, kicking Jenny weakly. Jenny reached down and grabbed one of Madeleine's feet tightly, shooting the child a warning look.

"Madeleine," she raised her voice.

Her cell phone started ringing. Jenny swore to herself and whipped around, picking it up. She looked at the name on the caller ID and then flicked open the phone; Madeleine started to whimper and struggle to get down.

"Hello?" she answered, trying to keep her voice calm.

"Hey, Jen," Jethro said breezily. He paused, and then laughed. "Sounds like someone's not happy," he muttered, evidently hearing Madeleine's whiny protests in the background.

"Jethro, I'm really not in the mood for playful banter," she snapped.

He didn't answer right away.

"Okay," he said, apparently deciding it was best not to come back with a snarky comment. "What's going on?"

"She's been throwing her damn cup for the past fifteen minutes, and she just spilled apple juice all over some files," Jenny snapped. "She doesn't like nap time anymore, Jethro, it's like a switch flipped and she just—she is driving me up the wall," Jenny broke off.

"_Ima_, let me DOWN!" screeched Madeleine, right in Jenny's ear. "DOWN! NOW!"

"Whoa," Jethro muttered.

Jenny crouched down, giving up, and let Madeleine scamper away. Madeleine stomped her feet and dashed from the kitchen into her bedroom, where Jenny heard her pulling things out of her toy chest.

Jenny stood silently for a moment, looking at the lunchtime mess, and the sticky, wrinkled, apple juice covered papers. She took a deep, shuddering breath and leaned back against the wall, swallowing hard.

"It isn't a good time," she murmured thickly.

He sighed.

"Ah, Jen, she'll stop getting' on your nerves in a minute," he tried to soothe. "She just likes the attention."

"The only attention she's going to get is my right hand on her backside," growled Jenny.

He laughed. Jenny managed to smile a little.

"What is it?" she asked, noting the odd time for his call. "I've got to deal with her and clean up."

"I'm at Gitmo," he answered seriously.

"_What_ did you do?" she asked instantly, straightening up, all sorts of scenarios rushing to her mind. He snorted indignantly on the other end of the line and placated her quickly; she could imagine him rolling his eyes and glaring at her in disbelief.

"I'm on a case, Jen," he clarified. "Though I'd let you know I was out of the country."

"You're always out of my country," she remarked briskly. He made a noise, and she sighed again, slouching down. She heard Madeleine banging things around and closed her eyes. "You're still not any closer," she murmured. "Be careful down there, Jethro."

"I will," he said. "Tell her I said be good," he added gruffly.

"Yeah," muttered Jenny. "If you can, call after ice-skating tomorrow. I'll have more time, and she'll be more amiable."

"Bye, Jenny," he said.

She just hung up the phone. She was sick and tired of saying goodbye. She shot another distasteful look at her ruined file, and pushed away from the kitchen wall, steeling herself to deal with her rambunctious, errant daughter. It was at least a benefit that Jenny had calmed down a little—she didn't like to yell at Madeleine the way she had; it made her feel cruel.

* * *

><p>Glaring at her in the dimly lit, sparsely decorated house, Gibbs briefly entertained the notion—once again—that he really did not understand the way women's minds operated. He had spent the better part of this trip mediating the bickering between DiNozzo and Todd and growing increasingly irritated over their incessant amount of childish, competitive squabbling. It really was like babysitting a pair of unruly, spoiled toddlers and he was at the end of his rope.<p>

Now, he was facing an annoyed, indignant Kate—who had apparently turned against her boss in favor if sticking up for DiNozzo. And all because DiNozzo was thinking with the _wrong_ head when it came to this case and this Agent Paula Cassidy.

This woman, who had been berating Tony for his behavior all day, had now taken it upon herself to defend him—she was actually challenging Gibbs. He, for one, couldn't figure out if it was due to sexual tension that the two of them needed to work out or due to a bond they seemed to have formed that allowed them to ridicule each other, but to defend each other against Gibbs.

He didn't have time to figure it out now.

"Romance between agents, Kate?" he growled, glaring at her. "It never _works_."

Her eyes full of bravado and brazen confidence, she narrowed her dark eyes and popped her eyebrows up.

"You speaking from experience?" she challenged boldly, her words cutting into the tense silence that had fallen for just a few seconds.

He was aware that for a brief second, a flicker in his cold glare gave him away, but he said nothing—and Kate didn't give him long to decide if he wanted to answer. She turned on her heel and stalked off, Paula Cassidy's laptop tucked securely under her arm. He heard her open a door, slam it, then a few moments later, she opened it again, and it was more quietly shut.

Gibbs leaned back in his chair, his shoulders sagging, and glared bluntly ahead of him at the empty table they'd been working at. DiNozzo was letting his infatuation with Agent Cassidy mess with his head, and it was affecting the efficacy of their work on the case.

He scowled, silently berating himself for his own hypocrisy. Yes; he was speaking from experience—there were rules, and there was on in particular that defined dating a coworker as a _bad idea_. He was not even sure he could classify what he and Jenny had as the _exception_ to the rule—their situation was fractured, unsatisfactory, and rocky.

He loved Madeleine violently, and a nagging voice in the back of his mind whispered that he still felt the same way about Jenny, and always would, but he still couldn't see it as beneficial to condone his agents starting up affairs with each other. He might turn a blind eye if this were a matter of just his fooling around with Jenny, but he and Jenny had accidentally brought a child into the equation, and that made everything _messy_.

Gibbs stood up, rubbing his forehead roughly, ignoring the pangs of melancholy that wracked his gut when he thought of how much he missed Madeleine and Jen. He shoved the chair against the table and abandoned work, storming away to bed.

As he passed, he heard Kate talking in a muted, irritated tone to Tony—and Tony was snickering, laughing back. She must have left her room and wandered into his after her exchange with Gibbs.

He shut himself in his room, in this empty, unfamiliar house in Cuba, and stretched out on his bed, staring at the ceiling from the cold, lumpy mattress. He thought of all the hotel rooms and safe houses he'd shut himself up in with Jenny, and he thought of the bitterness and passion that had resulted from an affair with his coworker.

Then, he thought of Madeleine.

Gibbs rolled over and pulled a pillow over his face, scowling again. He was convinced he'd given Kate the right advice—romance between agents wasn't a good idea. He assigned it a number in his mind; he made it a rule.

But he knew that if he had the chance, he would have the affair with Jenny again, to hell with the consequences.

* * *

><p>Ziva David was caught in a compromising position, to put things <em>very<em> over-dramatically. In order to attend to something that had come up with one of her NCIS operatives in Egypt, Shepard had momentarily stepped out of the room—after quickly and casually leaving Ziva in charge of her child.

Suspiciously, Ziva eyed the three-year-old, narrowing her eyes as if she were sizing up a threatening opponent. Madeleine Gibbs seemed to have not yet noticed that her mother was gone; the little auburn-haired pre-schooler was absorbed in a colouring book full of Old Testament Israelite scenes that Tali had given her.

Ziva pushed her thick, brunette hair behind her ears and perched on the edge of an armchair, remembering the days when Jenny and Madeleine had lived in this complex, before the child had a nanny, and she had been a near permanent fixture in many of Shepard and Ziva's meetings. Ziva did not see Madeleine as much anymore, and she noted that Jenny's daughter was growing quite quickly—and learning to speak and do other things very well.

Abruptly, Madeleine turned around and blinked at Ziva, glancing about the room.

"Tee, where _Ima_ go?" she asked politely, in Hebrew.

Ziva lifted her brows, parting her lips.

"She will be back shortly," Ziva answered a little uncomfortably.

She had always had trouble conversing with children. Children were the love of Tali's life, and even Ari was rather good with them, but Ziva felt awkward and out of place when she was in proximity with little ones. It occurred to her that she constantly felt like she was going to disappoint them, and the thought perturbed her.

What did it matter to her what children's opinions were?

Madeleine tilted her head. She beckoned.

"Tee, come colour," she said, again in Ziva's language. "Please," she said, this time using English.

Ziva shook her head.

"No, I am supervising you," the Israeli answered uncomfortably.

Madeleine giggled at Ziva's tone. She beckoned again.

"Colour, Tee," she insisted. "I behave," she promised.

Ziva frowned. She rarely interacted with Jenny's daughter, and she didn't see any reason to begin doing so now. However, she didn't want to seem cruel, or to disappoint, so she slowly got up and walked over, crouching down beside Madeleine.

Madeleine beamed and handed Ziva a crayon.

"Green," she said, tapping the colouring book. "Tee, colour Moses' coat!" Madeleine ordered primly, turning back to colouring some pyramids a vibrant sort of purple.

Ziva smiled slowly, watching Madeleine for a moment.

The time was drawing near when Shepard's term as a foreign operative at Mossad would be terminated, and she and Madeleine would leave Israel. In an uncharacteristic turn of events, Ziva was almost dreading the day she would be assigned a new partner to work with. Shepard was her favorite, and she disliked the thought of learning to trust another—she would much prefer being attached to Ari as his handler, an idea the Director was toying with.

Holding the crayon loosely, Ziva wondered if Madeleine knew that she was the strangest thing to have happened at Mossad in years and years; she was the child of a non-Israeli, non-Mossad agent who had been allowed to live in the complex, protected and even _liked_ by many of the officers in residence.

"Tee," Madeleine said brightly. She tapped the book again firmly. "Colour!"

Ziva smirked and slowly began to colour the place Madeleine tapped, filling in the blank page with long, practiced strokes. Madeleine nodded in approval and then shifted to her knees, scooting over towards Ziva.

Without thinking about it, Ziva sat down, crossing her legs, and allowed Madeleine to snuggle down in her lap. She reached around Jenny's daughter and coloured in synchronization with her, oblivious to whether or not the redhead was returning. Madeline bent forward and her hair fell into her face; Ziva reached over and pulled the little girl's hair back gently, holding her palm against Madeleine's forehead.

Ziva was, momentarily, so absorbed in the simplicity of helping the child in her lap colour biblical story pictures, that she did not notice Shepard come back into the room, freeze, and then stealthily disappear again.

What she did notice minutes later was the mechanical click that broke the silence. Startled, Ziva turned around sharply; she narrowed her eyes at the redhead, who was standing slyly in the doorway, a camera in her hands.

"Agent Shepard," Ziva growled, holding a green crayon out menacingly, as Madeleine turned around and smiled happily at Jenny. "Relinquish the camera, or I will—"

"Death by Crayola isn't very threatening, Ziva," Jenny mocked, her eye glinting mischievously.

This was a picture she couldn't _wait_ to mail to Jethro.

* * *

><p>Gibbs stared at the picture in his hands; his eyes narrow and focused thoughtfully. His hand covered his mouth as he mentally finalized his decision. His gaze was trained wistfully, and resolutely, on the photo of Madeleine in her ice skates, in an elf costume, smiling excitedly for the camera as Jenny crouched next to her, trying to lace one of her skates up.<p>

He didn't know who had taken the picture, but he had been staring at it for what seemed like an hour now, attempting to stave off the bitterness that sprung from knowing he would miss Christmas with them.

The chances of his being able to get back to Israel for Christmas had been slim, but the opportunity had become impossible two recent back-to-back cases, one that had involved a possible bomb threat. The latter had also been a rough case for Agent Todd—she'd gotten attached to the victim, who had turned out to be the perpetrator. He had to spend a lot of time cleaning up messes recently, and Director Morrow has politely asked that Gibbs' team take Christmas duty, as Gibbs had gotten out of it two years in a row.

He had, grudgingly, agreed. He recognized that other agents had families, too, even if a small part of him wanted to argue that they went home to theirs every day—while holidays were really all that he and Jenny had.

Gibbs had been toying with an idea lately, and this recent development of his not being able to see Jenny and Madeleine on Christmas had brought the pros and cons of the question to the forefront of his mind.

He had, from time to time, considered telling Abby about them—the thought had first occurred to him after Abby had answered his phone when Jenny had called to tell Gibbs about Madeleine's appendicitis. He was proud of Madeleine, and sometimes—only sometimes—he had the urge to brag about her to someone other than Noemi or Ducky, and he knew Abby would eat it up.

He had been considering the idea more seriously of late, and now, staring at the picture, he had irrevocably made his decision, and he had a favor to ask. Gibbs stood abruptly, folding the picture in his hand. Kate looked up from the paperwork she was doing, bit her lip, and hid her face, dreading speaking to him. He ignored her, choosing to leave her alone about her recent screw up in the Lieutenant Jane Doe case, and marched to the elevator, hoping to catch Abby before she left.

The bubbly scientist was skipping around and, her lab, hat, gloves, and coat already on, dutifully turning off her appliances when Gibbs walked in. He stopped in the doorway, watching with a fond smirk, and she twirled almost right into him, stopping breathlessly.

"Gibbs, you _sneak_," she admonished, her eyes wide with surprise. Her face fell suddenly. "Did I forget to do something for you?" she asked, unable to figure out why he'd be lurking in her lab suddenly when it was after seven; he should be headed home, like everyone else.

He shook his head.

"Got a favor to ask, Abs," he said gruffly.

She titled her head and bit her lip, looking at him curiously. Then her green, black-lined eyes widened and she squealed, clasping her hands together. She shuffled past him in her platform combat boots and shut the door, beaming.

"Is it _the_ secret, Gibbs? Do I get to know?" she demanded, her eyes sparkling. "_Ducky_ knows, I can tell, and I've snooped but I just _can't_ crack your code!"

He came into the lab, walking over to her computer and placing his palm on the desk. She followed him eagerly, a pleased look on her friendly face, her neat pigtails practically shivering with excitement. Gibbs couldn't help but laugh a little; she looked like someone's eager-to-please puppy, and it was infectious.

Gibbs pulled the folded photograph out of his pocket and toyed with it a minute; he used it to point at her.

"You keep this secret, Abs," he said firmly. "There are other people involved," he warned her.

She nodded, making a slashing motion across her chest.

"Cross my heart, _el Jefe_," she said sincerely. "I got your back!"

Gibbs reached up and rubbed his forehead. He unfolded the photo with his thumb and forefinger and showed it to Abby. She looked down, tilting her head curiously, and studied the picture a moment. She bit her lip and reached out, taking it thoughtfully. After a moment, she looked up, lowering her lashes and looking at Gibbs mysteriously.

She seemed to calm down, waiting patiently.

Gibbs tapped the photo gently, his pointer finger landing on Madeleine's elf hat.

"She's my daughter," he said told her.

Abby's eyes lit up. Her mouth fell open and she started at him, speechless for a moment.

"Gibbs, I didn't know you had a daughter!" she squealed.

"I've got two," he said gruffly, moving on quickly before the inevitable question could fly to her lips. He took the picture back and looked at it. "She's three," he informed Abby.

"What's her name?" Abby demanded, pleased. She snatched the picture back and crinkled her nose up. "Look at her, look at her _face_, look at her little _Gibbs_ nose!" Gibbs cringed uncomfortably as the Goth dissolved into coos. Abby put her finger on the picture, her lashes fluttering.

"Name," she reminded Gibbs insistently.

"Madeleine," he supplied. "Madeleine Jane."

"Do you call her Maddie?" Abby prompted.

He shrugged.

"Sometimes," he said guardedly. "Mostly call 'er Emmy."

"That's cute," Abby murmured. "That's different," she said thoughtfully, looking up at Gibbs again. She handed the picture back, calming down again. She looked at him for a moment and then pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes. "Why tell me now?" she asked perceptively.

Gibbs looked at her computers skeptically. He pointed to her screen.

"You use your computers to talk on the phone—and see their faces," Gibbs said, clearly completely ignorant of the finer aspects of electronic communications. "You do it the way we use the satellites to communicate in MTAC," he clarified.

Abby nodded, understanding starting to appear in her eyes.

"Video chat," she supplied. "It's going to be a big thing in a few years. Only government agencies have really nice capability right now."

He nodded.

"Abby," he said, looking at her seriously. "You reckon you can fix it so I can see Madeleine and her mother on Christmas morning?"

Abby beamed and dropped her bag, turning and firing up her computer. Smirking triumphantly, Gibbs pulled out his cell phone and dialed Tali's number to set up the surprise. They had a few days to get it right, but he didn't want to be scrambling last minute.

"Gibbs," chuckled Abby under her breath, shooting him a look. "I can't believe you _hid_ this for _three_ years."

* * *

><p>At nine o'clock on Christmas Eve, Gibbs slipped quietly away from the bullpen where Kate and DiNozzo were working sullenly and bemoaning the plight of their being at NCIS on the holiday. He took the elevator into Abby's lab and shut and locked the door behind him, his eyes and ears adjusting to the bright, frivolous decorations and perky Christmas music that permeated the lab.<p>

Abby covered her mouth, muffling a giggle of excitement.

"Gibbs, this is so stealthy and fun!" she hissed, tiptoeing over, grabbing his hand, and yanking him towards her computer. She waved at the young woman on the screen, who waved back slowly. Tali David's mouth moved, and a few seconds later, the sound came through the delay.

"Happy Hanukkah, Agent Gibbs," Tali greeted. She laughed. "And Merry Christmas, as well," she added smartly. "I have enjoyed talking with Miss Sciuto."

Abby turned to Gibbs excitedly.

"Tali can speak American Sign Language!"

"So can my daughter," Gibbs said, nodding at Tali. "She ready?"

Tali nodded.

"I did not tell Jenny what was going on, either," she said slyly. "She went to bed only two hours ago; she is not pleased with me that I am waking her up—but I think she will come around," Tali winked and disappeared from the screen.

Abby clasped her hands and turned to Gibbs, smiling gently.

"I'm going to leave," she said. "I can meet her later, Gibbs," she said, and he was grateful that she volunteered to leave him alone. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

"Thanks, Abs," he muttered.

She nodded.

"Merry Christmas," she whispered, tiptoeing out of the room and, no doubt, heading up to distract the team from Gibbs' sudden absence.

Gibbs waited, listening to the sounds of doors opening and machines making machine noises on the Israeli side. After a moment, he heard an irritated sigh.

"Tali, what could possibly be this important?" came Jenny's voice.

Tali just shushed her brightly, and in the next moment. Madeleine skipped into view, obviously quite pleased to be awake at such a strange hour. She had been holding Tali's hand, but released it when she caught sight of Gibbs. She darted up to the screen, peering at it curiously.

Jenny was arguing with Tali silently.

"I'll never get her back to sleep," the redhead was hissing.

"Just trust me, my friend," Tali soothed, taking Jenny's shoulders and forcing her to turn in the right direction. Jenny scowled, pushing knotted, messy hair away from her eyes.

Madeleine cocked her head and reached out curiously to touch the screen.

"_Aba_, I see you," she announced matter-of-factly.

"I see _you_, Emmy," he answered just as seriously.

Jenny paused.

"What?" she asked, narrowing her eyes and focusing. She looked stunned for a moment. "Jethro?" she asked, the shock evident in her voice. "_Jethro_?" she repeated, a smile starting on her lips.

"_Shalom_," Madeleine said, still completely unfazed. She strung together some words in Hebrew, mixed in English, and then tilted her head, giggled and jumped up and down. "I see you," she repeated. She puckered her lips. "Kiss."

Gibbs grinned, moving forward to see her better. He lifted his hand and waved. Jenny came up behind Madeleine and crouched down, putting her arms on the little girl's waist and resting her chin on her shoulder.

"_Ima_," Madeleine whispered. She pointed. "See _Aba_?"

"I see him," Jenny whispered back playfully. "Can you say 'Merry Christmas'?" she asked. Jenny smiled, biting her lower lip and looking up to meet Jethro's eyes in the best way she could through a mere computer screen.

Gibbs couldn't help it. He gave her an arrogant smirk and she rolled her eyes, kissing Madeleine's cheek fondly.

"Can you tell Daddy he looks _much_ too proud of himself?" she said smartly, arching an eyebrow at Gibbs.

He arched an eyebrow right back. He waited as Tali slipped quietly out of the room, smugly letting his ex-partner know that he was _damn_ proud of himself for pulling this off.

* * *

><p><em>D'awww.<em>  
><em>Reviews are appreciated!<em>  
><em>-Alexandra <em>


	9. Tesha

_A/N: Pivotal chapter, right here. Also the longest one yet, if you can believe it. On a completely unrelated note, Gibbs and his new lady cuddled in "The Missionary Position" and I about died of the cute. :) Read on. _

* * *

><p><em><strong>Nine<strong>_

__**Late January/February; 2004**

It was a testament to Jenny's considerable concentration abilities that she was so intently focused on the Mossad briefing she was currently attending when there was a distinctly bored three-year-old fidgeting in her lap.

Madeleine had long decided the colouring book her mother had given her to amuse herself with was not very amusing at all, and had abandoned it in favor of peering around the room with interest at the many faces.

In an absent, soothing motion, Jenny calmly brushed her fingers through the little girl's thick-ish, auburn hair, gently squeezing her shoulder once in a while so Madeleine would know that Mama was very much aware of her actions. It was a dismal, cold February day, and Jenny's nanny had come down with the flu that had been threatening the whole city. The incapacitation of Rebecca could not have come at a _less_ convenient time; Jenny had operational meetings all week, and she could only pawn Madeleine off on Tali when the youngest David herself wasn't consumed with work. Madeleine only attended her Montessori school three days a week, so it was a troublesome dilemma.

When Madeleine had been a baby, it had been much easier to have her around during the meetings; she'd slept most of the time, and if she hadn't been sleeping, she'd been eating or contentedly looking around in wonder—and she hadn't been able to understand anything.

It was…different, now.

One of the Israeli officers slammed his fist onto the table and burst into exasperated yelling, berating an English operative they had been working with lately. A short word from Director David quelled the noise, but Madeleine responded to the shouting by shifting onto her knees in Jenny's lap and leaning on the table, glaring interestedly at the shouter.

Jenny gently pulled her back a little and kissed the crown of her head, murmuring a quiet, soft reprimand. Madeleine looked up at Jenny and puckered her lips dramatically, opening her eyes wide and sighing. Jenny smirked, but didn't acknowledge the antics.

"Director, you have to acknowledge the danger of operating under assumed intelligence—"

"You are clearly operating under your own damn assumed intelligence—"

"Jesus Christ, McFadden, just let it go—Ziva shot you down, she's right—"

"We can't ignore the facts just because this agency is riddled with nepotism!"

Another burst of angry Hebrew, this time initiated by a man to the left of Ziva with dark, foreboding features and a lean look in his dark eyes. Madeleine watched the exchange and then tilted her head back up.

"Mama," she said quietly.

Jenny put a finger to her lips.

_"Ima,"_ Madeleine hissed, a little more insistently. She reached up and touched Jenny's chin, twisting a little. "Mama, I'm bored," she whispered in English. She squirmed and slouched down, trying to get away from Jenny's lap.

Jenny, aware that she was starting to be stared at, lifted Madeleine back up and put her mouth close to her daughter's ear, speaking rapidly in low Hebrew:

"Not much longer, Madeleine, please be a lady."

Madeleine sighed and whined. She reached for her crayons and broke one in half, sticking her upper lip out and attempting to balance the half-crayon between it and her nose. She giggled when it fell, and Jenny flinched as the crayoned rolled lazily across the table.

"How are we supposed to negotiate the terms of this next round of ops when we don't even have the full attention of NCIS," snarled one of the Israeli military.

"You have my full attention," Jenny said sharply. "I believe I contributed a course of action, General."

"A course of action that tasted bitterly of American diplomacy!" retorted the General. He curled his lip at Jenny disparagingly. "You are too afraid to do anything that would jeopardize the deal you have with OPEC."

"Can you blame us?" Jenny asked tightly.

"Blame you? For supporting regimes that oppress and destroy our people—"

"That is enough, General Bashaat," Eli interrupted coolly. "This is not a roundtable discussion on American international policy; this is an exploration of courses of action considering the Intel fed to us by MI6, NCIS Cairo, and Haswari," he paused, and looked sharply at his General. "It is a civil discussion, mind you."

"It is a childish one," barked the General, shooting a nasty look at Madeleine.

"It would seem so," Ziva remarked silkily. "Perhaps Agent Shepard's child could give you a lesson on self-control, General."

He shot the Director of Mossad's daughter a livid look, but clamped his mouth shut, swallowing a bitter retort, and lowering his eyes as a subtle ripple of laughter went through the table. Jenny nodded briefly in Ziva's direction, thanking her.

"Ima," Madeleine said quietly, after discussion had resumed. She flicked one of her crayons, making it roll across the table, and she beamed, her eyes lighting up. "Mama, watch," she coaxed.

"Madeleine Jane, stop that," Jenny reprimanded, putting her hand over Madeleine's. Before she could give her daughter a no-nonsense look, a piece of purple crayon came rolling blithely back across the table, aimed right at Madeleine's hand.

The three-year-old giggled and yanked her hand from beneath Jenny's, flicking the crayon back in the direction it had come. Jenny snapped her eyes up and found herself watching as Eli David covertly caught the crayon in his fingers and expertly rolled it back towards Madeleine as if it were nothing out of the ordinary.

Her jaw hanging open slightly, she watched as Madeleine giggled and continued with the game, wrinkling her nose and making faces at Eli every time he caught her crayon and rolled it back nonchalantly.

Eli caught her eye briefly and his look was stern and composed. Jenny bit her lip to hold back a smile. Her attention was no longer on the meeting; she was busy watching Eli David entertain her daughter.

Madeleine looked at Jenny gleefully, as if to reiterate that she was playing with the mighty director of Mossad. She hopped forward to lean on the table and shot the crayon to the Director; Eli flicked it back and it rolled out of Madeleine's reach to the floor.

Madeleine slipped stealthily out of Jenny's grip and crouched to pick up the crayon. She crawled under the table, at which point Jenny snapped out of her moment of amusement and leaned back, clenching her jaw.

"Madeleine," she hissed under her breath, reaching down to try and catch her.

Madeleine snickered and scampered away, popping up next to Eli on the other side of the table. She leaned against Eli's knee and handed him the crayon, smiling proudly. Eli did not take the crayon, and Jenny winced, biting her lip with dread.

The Director of Mossad then reached down and pinched Madeleine's nose between his middle and pointer finger, pulling his hand away to present her with his thumb between the two. Having played the game before, Madeleine covered her face with a gasp.

"_Ima_," she announced. "Tali's Aba took my nose."

Jenny felt her cheeks flush as silence fell in the room; the people who didn't immediately glare at the NCIS agent turned shocked, befuddled looks to the three-year-old who had brazenly interrupted them. Madeleine, unfazed, reached for Eli's hand and tried to pry it open, glaring at him in a pretty little way.

"I want it back, please," she said.

"What shall you do if I do not give it back?" Eli asked seriously.

Madeleine stopped pulling at his hand, looking confused. She looked at Jenny and Jenny covered her mouth, her cheeks still red from the annoyed, frustrated stares her daughter was earning her. She pursed her lips but couldn't find anything to say; she shot a desperate look at Eli, and then Ziva.

Madeleine was still at a loss.

"I said please," she said, putting her hands on her hips. Eli smiled indulgently.

"Sometimes asking nicely does not work," he said, shrugging. "It only works on nice people. How shall you get your nose back, little one, if I am not one of those who is nice?"

Madeleine frowned. She glared at Eli. She reached out and pinched his knee, furrowing her brows in consternation, trying to decide what she should do. Mama had always told her to ask nicely and be polite, and that would earn her rewards.

"I tell _my_ Aba to take Tali's nose!" she decided triumphantly, snatching at his hand again.

Director David laughed heartily, tilting his head back. He gallantly presented Madeleine's 'nose' back to her.

"A nose for a nose, then," he muttered thoughtfully, playing on the words. He nodded. "Interesting," he reached down and lifted Madeleine onto his lap, watching momentarily as she went about fixing her nose back on.

Eli looked up, sizing up the table coldly.

"Even a child knows that one must strike back when struck first," he said shortly. "We will wait for Haswari's next report to clarify the situation; we will anticipate and mitigate the attack," a murmur of outrage rose momentarily, and Eli waited. "Israel is only considered in the right when we are first attacked; when we are the poor, persecuted Jews defending ourselves," he said. He shrugged coolly. "So, this time, we will wait, and when the world weeps and says we have the right to strike back, we will—with superior force."

Director David handed Madeleine one of her crayons.

"I think we are done here," he said, dismissing the agents, officers, and operatives.

As they filed out, disgruntled—hardly any of them pleased, Jenny sat with her eyes narrowed on Director David as he held Madeleine in his nap. She stood as Ziva left and walked around the table, perching on the edge and reaching for her daughter. She gave her temporary boss a searching look, tilting her head.

"I am not sure that was a lesson I wanted her taught," Jenny remarked neutrally, standing up and swinging Madeleine onto her hip.

Eli was unfazed.

"If she grows up here, Agent Shepard, it is a lesson she will know by heart if she means to survive."

With that, Eli David, the Director of Mossad who had taken a somewhat secret liking to Madeleine Gibbs, stood and left the room slowly, exiting to his office through a secluded door in the corner.

Left alone, Jenny looked down at Madeleine. Madeleine looked at her and beamed; clearly proud of herself and amused by the strange, interesting events she'd participated in today. Jenny smiled back a little half-heartedly, a hollow sort of dread drifting into the back of her mind.

* * *

><p>Gibbs rubbed his forehead in irritation as he listened to DiNozzo and Kate bicker yet again.<p>

He slammed his palm down on his desk, startling them both into silence. Glaring, he stood up slowly; making them look at him in fear for a moment before he finally spoke.

"Who is this guy?" he demanded shortly.

They were on a case involving a murder on a beach—the tip had come in from an anonymous caller, and now it looked like that anonymous caller was the only individual whom might give some insight on what had happened that night.

For the past five minutes, DiNozzo and Kate had been arguing over whether or not they needed to call in this _expert_ they both seemed to know. Kate was in favor; DiNozzo was against, and the calm debate had quickly turned into the two of them hurling insults at each other like petulant siblings.

When neither one of them answered him right away, he picked the weakest link and glared until DiNozzo answered him:

"It's this kid up in Norfolk, McGee," DiNozzo relented, making a face. "He's some kind of computer genius."

"If anyone can track the call, Gibbs, he can," Kate insisted earnestly.

"_Abby_ can do it!" DiNozzo snapped.

"Abby isn't _just_ our lab tech," Kate retorted, annoyed. "She's overworked as it is!"

"Norfolk?" Gibbs asked, narrowing his eyes.

Kate nodded.

"He was the first responder to the crime scene that landed us on the submarine."

Gibbs looked at her blankly.

"While you were…gone," she prompted uncertainly. "He's green, but he can do it—he's got potential."

"Well if that isn't the probie calling the probie green," mocked DiNozzo.

Coming around his desk, Gibbs smacked DiNozzo in the back of his head and pointed at Kate.

"Call the kid," he ordered. "Get him up here. See if he can track the tip."

DiNozzo whined in protest, and Gibbs felt rather than saw Kate shoot Tony a triumphant smirk. Gibbs slapped his hand on the button for the elevator, headed to see Ducky for a cause of death. He reached up and rubbed his forehead again, trying to massage his headache away. He was tired. He felt like a truck had hit him. There wasn't anything he could do about it, though. If Madeleine wanted to talk to him, he wasn't going to ignore his phone.

Even if it _did_ keep ringing in the middle of the night.

* * *

><p>Madeleine stood quietly at the edge of her mother's bed, peeking at Jenny's sleeping face with wide-awake green eyes. She blinked periodically, willing her mother to wake up with the force of her stare. She was scared, but her mother had been sleepy and snappy lately, and she didn't want to get in trouble.<p>

"Mommy," she whispered very quietly.

She knew her mother preferred to be called the English word.

"Mommy," she whispered again, hiding her face a little.

Jenny's eyes flew open and she gasped, startled. She stared at Madeleine, her eyes wide and adjusting to the light, and then reached up to push her hair back, sighing heavily.

"What is it, Madeleine?" she asked, resigned.

Madeleine hunkered down a little, hiding her face. Jenny groaned and sat up, peering over the edge of her bed.

"Look at me, Madeleine," she coaxed. "What's wrong? Why are you out of bed? Do I need to check for sea monsters again?"

Madeleine stood up, shaking her head slowly.

"I want to call Aba," Madeleine said.

Jenny shook her head.

"It's the middle of his work day, honey," she placated. "We can call him this afternoon."

Jenny started to get up, throwing her legs out of bed and to the floor. She sighed, reaching out her hand.

"Come on, let's go back to bed."

"No," said Madeleine, darting away from Jenny's hand and trying to scramble onto her mother's bed. "No, I want to call Aba."

"Madeleine," Jenny sighed, a warning entering her voice.

"Mommy," Madeleine whined back, her face dissolving into tears. "_Mommy_, I need to call Aba," she sobbed, burying her face in the side of Jenny's bed. "Please!" she shouted.

Shocked, Jenny slid down to her knees, reaching gently for Madeleine's sides. She pried the three-year-old away from the bed and pulled her close, pressing the child's head into her chest and hugging her tightly. She stroked Madeleine's hair slowly, trying to calm her down. Madeleine locked her arms around Jenny's neck and cried still.

"Madeleine," Jenny murmured. "Emmy," she said, using Jethro's nickname for her. She pulled back a little and looked her daughter in the eye, frowning sympathetically. She pursed her lips and kissed Madeleine's tear-wetted nose, brushing her cheeks off with her thumb.

Madeleine's lower lip trembled.

"I'm scared," she informed Jenny seriously.

"Why are you so scared, _ahuva_?" Jenny asked calmly. "Did you have a scary dream?"

"I don't _know_," Madeleine sobbed. "Call Daddy!" she insisted, struggling with Jenny. Jenny shushed her quietly and pulled her into her lap, kissing her nose again. She waited until Madeleine stopped struggling.

It was exhausting, Madeleine's sudden need to call Jethro on a whim at random intervals during the day. Jenny knew it was taking its toll on him as well. She urged him to just screen the calls once in a while, but she knew in her heart that he would never ignore the call. She knew he answered even when it woke him up at three in the morning—but Jenny couldn't figure out why it was becoming so necessary.

As unfortunate as it was, Madeleine's concept of Jethro was usually out-of-sight out of mind—she talked to him when Jenny called him, and of course interacted with him when he visited, but other than that, he was just a mysterious, mostly absent figure.

Kneeling on the floor by her bed, Jenny hugged Madeleine again, frowning as she tried to discern the best course of action. This neurotic behavior needed to be addressed, but Jenny had to first figure out what had triggered Madeleine's desire to talk to Jethro every single day.

"Why do we have to call Daddy now?" Jenny asked thoughtfully. "Why can't we wait until morning, sweetheart?"

"Make sure he answers," Madeleine whimpered. "So he's not _dead_."

Jenny gasped involuntarily, and she knew the reaction scared Madeleine.

"What?" Jenny asked hoarsely. "Emmy, why do you think Daddy is dead?" she asked shakily, biting her lip sharply. Madeleine's face crumpled again. She put her hands over her face and began speaking Hebrew. Jenny answered in Hebrew, her brow furrowing. She gently removed Madeleine's hands from her face.

"Speak up," she coaxed. "Speak to me, not your hands."

"Mimi's daddy died," Madeleine whimpered.

"_Oh_," Jenny whispered softly, biting her lip as she finally grasped what must have been irritating Madeleine lately.

One of Madeleine's classmates, at her Montessori school, had lost a parent to a Palestinian attack. Jenny had heard about the tragedy, but hadn't thought to discuss it with Madeleine—she was _three_ years old, Jenny assumed she wouldn't understand what had happened. She surely hadn't anticipated the incident frightening Madeleine.

"Okay," Jenny decided, bracing her shoulders as she stood up and lifted Madeleine onto her hip.

She rubbed her daughter's back as she carried her into the kitchen, flipping on a light and reaching for the telephone. Madeleine rubbed her eyes, squinting in the sudden brightness, and rested her head on Jenny's shoulder, her small hand holding tightly to Jenny's neck.

Jenny decided the best course of action would be to call Jethro now so Madeleine's fears could be assuaged. She'd get her back to sleep, and call Jethro again later to explain the situation and discuss what they should do. First and foremost, though, she didn't want Madeleine to be living in fear of her father dying.

"I am calling him right now, Madeleine," Jenny said, holding the phone to her ear. "Does that make you feel better?"

"Yes," Madeleine said softly. "Am sorry I get you awake," Madeleine said in a small voice.

Jenny smiled apologetically. She shook her head.

"If you feel scared, you come get me," she said seriously. "It is _always_ okay to wake me up if you need me."

"Yes," Madeleine said again.

"Gibbs," Jethro answered abruptly, cutting off the dull ringing.

"Hey, Jethro," Jenny began calmly. "Madeleine's a little bit scared and she wants to hear your voice," she informed him, nodding at Madeleine. The little girl took the phone as Jenny handed it to her and sniffled, pressing it tightly to her ear—even though it was much too big for her small face.

"Jen?" she heard Jethro say, concerned. "Madeleine?" he said.

"Daddy?" Madeleine said into the phone, her voice going up uncertainly. "Say words to Emmy," she said in third person.

Jenny smiled. She heard Jethro laugh apprehensively.

"Aren't you up past your bedtime, princess?"

* * *

><p>Gibbs stared critically at the new kid working diligently next to Abby—and DiNozzo had been right in describing this Agent McGee as a <em>kid<em>. He looked fresh out of whatever high-priced, private university his parents had paid for; he was as twitchy and eager to please as a barely-housebroken puppy.

"Got it," the kid said suddenly, straightening up and smiling goofily. He quickly scribbled something on a sheet of paper and turned around, his smile fading a little when he met Gibbs' stony, narrow glare. "Uh, the name, I, uh, got it," he stammered, holding the paper out.

Gibbs took it silently. Abby giggled, and McGee turned to look at her, silently begging for help. Abby shrugged perkily and looked at Gibbs, waiting to see his reaction. Gibbs peered over the paper at the two computer geniuses. He folded the paper over.

"You're sure?"

"Positive," McGee squeaked. "I latched onto the signal, lost it, then picked it back up—for a while it was highly encrypted, but Abby knows a guy who could interpret…" as Gibbs' glare intensified at the tech-speak, McGee trailed off, flushing. "Positive," he repeated.

Gibbs glared at him a moment longer, flicking his eyes briefly to the proud, sparkly-eyed Abby. He handed the paper back to McGee and jerked his thumb towards the door.

"Give it to Kate and DiNozzo, tell 'em to track him down," he ordered.

"Yes, sir!" McGee said eagerly, darting out of the lab.

Gibbs turned his attention to Abby, arching an eyebrow.

"You should be nicer to Timmy," Abby admonished lightly, beaming at him smugly. Gibbs approached her, narrowing his eyes slightly. Abby, who generally disliked having anyone in her lab with her while she worked, seemed to have jumped at the chance to work with Agent McGee when she'd been told he was on his way to the Navy Yard.

"He stay at your place?" Gibbs asked.

"He has to stay somewhere, Gibbs."

"You sleepin' with _Timmy_, Abs?" Gibbs asked protectively.

She pretended to look affronted.

"Gibbs! What a personal question to ask!" she protested mockingly. She raised her eyebrow at him. "Besides, I object to the terminology. _He_ is sleeping with _me_."

Gibbs snorted; he rolled his eyes.

"What's the difference?" he asked gruffly.

Abby smiled wickedly.

"A coffin."

* * *

><p>Jenny could hardly keep the grin off her lips as she leaned forward on her knees, seated on the edge of the very first row of bleachers, looking through the glass as her daughter pranced around on the ice in concentration, performing a simple, cute little dance to upbeat Hebrew music. Her small face was flushed and her two thin ponytails bounced rhythmically.<p>

Madeleine did not know her mother was coming to watch, and she hadn't spotted Jenny yet. If the three and a half year old did well in her casual performance for the Figure Skating teachers today, she'd be allowed to move up a class. Jenny had been stressed all week; she had been sure she wouldn't be able to make the lesson.

The stress was gone now; Jenny had made it. She had slipped in just as the class started, taking Rebecca's place on the bleachers and letting the nanny have the rest of the day off. Watching Madeleine prance around on the ice was fun and heartening, and Jenny was suddenly gripped with the bitter regret that she'd only ever watched once before, on Madeleine's first day at the rink.

The music ended and Jenny straightened up with a grin, widening her eyes. Sitting away from her in a group were the mothers of the other students; they all began to clap and call out, and Jenny joined in, drawing curious looks from the other women—who were no doubt wondering who she was. Madeleine noticed her mother when she started to clap; her green eyes widened and lit up, and as the class started to break up to look for parents, Madeleine began to wave at Jenny ecstatically.

Jenny stood up and walked to the archway that led to the ice, politely slipping past the other parents to step cautiously onto the ice right by the entrance.

"Mommy," cried Madeleine, stumbling into Jenny less-than-gracefully. Jenny caught her and swept her up, ignoring the pain of her daughter's skates roughly knocking against her knees and then hips as she hugged her close. "Mommy, you saw me dance!"

Madeleine burst into a string of bubbly Hebrew, laughing and wrapping her arms tightly around Jenny's neck. Jenny kissed the preschooler's nose and forehead and ruffled her hair, laughing at the surprise and excitement emanating from the little girl. Madeleine wriggled primly, reaching up to smooth the parted hair between her pigtails.

"I didn't fall once, Ima," Madeline said eagerly, the sentence coming out as a toddler-ish mix of Hebrew and English. Her voice was clear as a bell, young, childish, and music to Jenny's exhausted, over-worked ears. "You saw?"

"I saw the whole thing, _ahuva_," Jenny murmured brightly, holding Madeleine firmly in front of her. The skates dug into her spine where Madeleine had her legs around Jenny's waist, but the redhead didn't care. "Oh, I am so proud of you," Jenny said earnestly. Jenny wrinkled her nose and fluttered her eyelashes. "But aren't you cold?" she asked playfully, over-exaggerating a shiver.

Madeleine giggled.

"We live in a desert," she said matter-of-factly. "Put me down," she requested firmly, still speaking Hebrew. Jenny complied, straightening Madeleine's wispy pink skirt as she released her. Madeleine put her hands on her hips and looked up at Jenny. "You're a sneaky Mama," she said seriously.

Jenny laughed, nodding.

"You know, your father isn't the only one who can show up unexpectedly," she said wryly.

Madeleine beamed, scooting over and wrapping her arms around Jenny's leg. Jenny reached down and tousled the little girl's hair gently again, reveling in the comforting grasp of her daughter's hug. It had been a grueling, troublesome day at Mossad, and Madeleine always made those days better.

Madeleine jumped away from Jenny suddenly, darting forward a little to meet a girl who had been on the ice with her. The other little girl tugged on Madeleine's hand and whispered in her ear, and then looked up at Jenny shyly. Madeleine motioned for Jenny to come closer; Jenny crouched down obligingly, getting on the girls' level.

"Mimi, she's my Ima," Madeleine said happily, placing Mimi's small hand in Jenny's palm.

Jenny smiled gently, remembering Mimi to be the young child whose father had been lost to a nasty attack—the attack that had prompted Madeleine to demand to call Jethro at all hours of the day. Since she had gotten over that, Madeleine seemed to have forgotten that her father existed at all.

"Hello, Mimi," Jenny said warmly, squeezing the child's hand comfortingly. Mimi smiled shyly and shifted on her skates, a few dark curls falling into her eyes. She whispered a timid 'shalom' and Jenny smiled again.

"Miriam, please begin taking your skates off," a woman stepped onto the ice and extended her hand, helping Madeleine's friend to hop off the ice and run to the cubbies in the carpeted area. Jenny chucked Madeleine under the chin gently and nodded her head in the same direction, sending her child off to unlace her skates. As she straightened, the woman who had approached smiled at her cautiously.

"You are Madeleine's mother?" she asked in halting English.

Jenny nodded, extending her hand.

"I am Dina, Miriam's mother," the woman introduced, still politely using English.

"Jenny," the redhead responded. "I speak Hebrew," she added, taking some of the pressure off the conversation. Dina looked relieved, and smiled in a much more relaxed, easy manner. Mimi's mother was young, but she had tired, worried lines around her mouth and eyes—it was a look Jenny noticed plagued many mothers in Israel; looking at Dina, Jenny couldn't help remember that this had been the woman who recently lost her husband.

"I have not seen you around the rink before," Dina said.

"I work quite a bit," Jenny answered. "Madeleine's nanny usually brings her."

"Ah, yes, the young Muslim woman?" Dina gestured around her head to indicate a hijab. She snapped her fingers. "Miss Becca, the little girls call her. She is very pleasant."

Jenny nodded earnestly in agreement.

"She's a lifesaver," she admitted. "I don't know what I'd do without her."

Dina nodded thoughtfully. She hesitated, and crossed her arms.

"Madeleine says her father lives in America?" she ventured.

"Does she?" Jenny asked mildly, unaware that Madeleine mentioned Jethro outside of the home. Jenny though about her answer for a moment and then confirmed vaguely. "Yes, well, her father doesn't live here. Hence the nanny's usefulness."

"I understand," Dina said. "Doing it alone is an," the woman paused heavily, "an adjustment," she decided softly. Instinctively, Jenny reached out and touched Dina's shoulder comfortingly. Dina smiled sadly and shrugged her shoulders.

"We are raised to be prepared to face such things," she said solemnly, "but we never really can be prepared. My mother's family came here after Auschwitz. It is my homeland, but maybe sometimes I think I should get Mimi out," Dina pressed her lips together and studied Jenny.

"Ima, Ima, Madden's laces are stuck again, help," Mimi chirped insistently, poking her head around the archway and looking up at Dina and Jenny matter-of-factly. Dina stepped over and stroked Mimi's hair, smiling over her shoulder at Jenny.

"I am afraid my daughter does not pronounce Madeleine's name very well," she said, amused.

Jenny smiled good-naturedly and waved her hand.

"Her father never says it right, either," Jenny said, slipping past Dina and walking over to Madeleine. The little girl was seated on a bleacher, one foot free of a skate and dangling towards the floor, sheathed in a woolen sock. She tugged mercilessly at the laces on another, her brows knitted in concentration, her mouth twisted in a very Gibbs-like scowl. Jenny clicked her tongue and crouched in front of Madeleine.

She reached out helpfully.

"Let me get that knot," she offered.

Madeleine scooted away.

"No, I can do it," she said in English. "I promise, watch," she said.

"It's a pretty tight knot. I can help," Jenny said.

"No!" Madeleine insisted. "I can do it, Ima, promise. I want you to see me do it," she said earnestly, clawing at the knot. She stuck her tongue between her teeth. Jenny waited patiently to be asked for help. After a minute more of struggling, Madeleine sighed and hung her head, thrusting her foot out at Jenny.

Jenny took the little skate in her lap and deftly untied it.

"You loosened up that knot for me, babe!" she said seriously, widening her eyes. "Oh my, you must have inherited Daddy's muscles," Jenny added, pinching Madeleine's arms. Madeleine giggled and leapt up, darting to the cubbyhole for her shoes.

"Is Daddy strong?" she asked, ripping off her wool socks and tossing them at Jenny. Hesitantly, Jenny looked around for Madeleine's bag; Dina discreetly handed it to her, helping Jenny out. Jenny nodded to her in thanks, feeling an unexpected pang of guilt as she acknowledged that she didn't really know where anything was or how anything worked at this rink that her child loved so much.

"Daddy," Jenny responded, unbuckling Madeleine's Mary Jane sandals and handing them to her, "is _very_ strong."

"Like a superhero?" Madeleine asked in a whisper. Jenny smiled fondly and leaned forward, kissing her daughter on the temple with a smile.

"Just like a superhero," she agreed softly.

"Maybe he knows Superwoman," Madeleine piped up.

"You better hope not," Jenny said smartly, giving Madeleine a sassy look. "That would make your Mama very jealous."

"_You're_ superwoman, Mama," Madeleine giggled, letting Jenny buckle her shoe. Jenny looked at Madeleine intently and smiled back, touched by the comment. She stood up and helped Madeleine hop off the bleachers, smoothing down the part between her pigtails again. She hugged Madeleine close to her leg and smirked.

"Madden," called Mimi, darting over to Madeleine and taking her hand. "You play at my house now, Ima says!" she said excitedly, tackling Madeleine with a hug. Madeleine squealed and looked up at Jenny with wide, inquiring eyes. Jenny turned to Dina. Dina gestured to the kids and smiled apologetically.

"She's very excited. Miriam's been asking to have a play date with Madeleine for a few weeks now, but I hesitated to ask the nanny. I felt it would be invading your authority. I also thought you might like to meet me before you let me take her to my home," Dina explained kindly.

"I appreciate that," Jenny said sincerely. "I'm sure Madeleine would love a play date with Mimi!" she added warmly.

"YES!" shouted Madeleine, hopping up and down. "Yes, please, yes yes _yes_!" she squealed. Jenny laughed and rested her palm on Madeleine's shoulder to calm her down. She thought about it for a moment.

"Madeleine goes to a Montessori school on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays from nine to one," she explained. "I'm never positive of my work schedule, but I can give you a call in a few days once I know something concrete."

"That sounds fine," Dina answered. "My schedule never changes. I'm a nurse; I work the same four shifts every week," she explained. "They'll have a lovely time; Mimi has a wonderful playhouse that my husband built and there's a good backyard," Dina smiled. "If you're free, don't hesitate to join. You and I can have tea while the girls play."

Jenny nodded.

"That would be refreshing," she said seriously.

Dina would most likely not understand how refreshing just sitting back with another woman—a mother, not a _krav maga_ trained assassin like Ziva—would be. Jenny doubted it would work out, as she was so busy lately, but it was comforting thought.

She said her goodbyes to Dina and Mimi, and then bent and swept Madeleine up onto her hip, hugging her tightly. The little girl squirmed and protested, making an exaggerated face and whining about being snuggled so much. Jenny just scrunched up her nose and kissed Madeleine dramatically on the cheek, reveling in the strangeness that was picking her daughter up from practice and planning a play date as if she were a normal, confident mother.

* * *

><p>Jenny answered her cell phone slowly, leaning back in her bathtub and making sure her hand was dry before she relaxed. She tilted her head back against the tile and sighed, pursing her lips.<p>

"Hello, Jethro," she said pleasantly.

"You sound good," he said suspiciously. She smirked, biting her lower lip. She didn't answer and he grunted at her. She laughed.

"Jealous?" she asked mildly.

"Should I be?" he retorted, bristling.

"Not unless you think some pricey bubble bath is competition," she answered seriously. He made a dismissive noise and grumbled something. Jenny just laughed again and sunk further into her much-deserved bath, waiting for him to tell her what he'd called for, or ask her something else.

"You get fired or something?" he asked smartly. "It's rare you get to just take a damn bubble bath."

"Isn't it?" she agreed blissfully. "A mission I was supposed to run fell through, unfortunately," she explained.

"Where's our kid?" he asked.

"_Madeleine_ has a play date today," Jenny said proudly. "She'll be at her friend Mimi's house until five, and then I get to play with her _all_ night."

"Mimi's the little girl whose father died?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes," Jenny answered solemnly. "She and Madeleine are good friends, it seems. I spoke with Mimi's mother before the play date was arranged," Jenny paused, brightening suddenly. "Ah, and I've discovered that Madeleine talks about you at skating class."

"She does?"

"She tells her classmates that her daddy lives in America," Jenny explained fondly. "She isn't as oblivious to you as I was afraid," she added uncertainly.

"I'm glad, Jen," he answered seriously. "She's not oblivious. She talks to me when I call," he said a little defensively.

"I know," Jenny said earnestly. "I still feel like she doesn't understand what you are to her," she tried to explain. "She was so scared for those few days when she thought you were going to die, but it seems like she was upset because Mimi was sad. It's," Jenny paused.

"What?" Gibbs asked, when she didn't go on.

"It's different," she continued slowly. "My dad wasn't on deployments away from me until I was in my teens. I waited for him to come home every day. I understood that he was as much of caregiver as my mom," Jenny stopped talking. "Never mind, I don't want to talk about my family," she muttered. She pulled her knee up, watching hot water fall off of it in dripping waves.

"I get it, Jen," he said. His voice sounded strain. "You heard about your promotion yet?" he asked.

"No," she answered softly. It was February; she should be hearing soon. At the beginning of March, she knew there would be some kind of drastic change; her contracted time with Mossad was about to be terminated, and being reminded of it feel very uncertain.

"Think about coming home, Jenny," he said bluntly.

"Home?" she scoffed, panicked. "Home to the states? Home to you? Jethro, I know it's painful to be this far apart all the time, but the thought of living with you is just as scary," she admitted breathlessly.

He laughed.

"I'm not asking you to move in, damn, remember what happened last time?" he said smugly. "I don't want a _Dear Daddy_ letter from Madeleine showin' up in the mail," he teased.

It was the first time she had heard him joke about Paris without malice, and it left her speechless for a minute.

"Sounds like you've forgiven me," she ventured.

"Nope," he deadpanned.

She rolled her eyes half-heartedly, though he couldn't see. She bit her lip and fell silent, tilting her head.

"We can call you tonight before bedtime," she said. "I hate that you called and she wasn't here."

"Ah, it's okay," he said. "Don't mind hearin' your voice, Jen," he said huskily.

"Oh, stop, you just know I'm naked," she drawled.

He snorted. He paused and then cleared his throat.

"Hey, you remember those cases back in the day that Decker and I worked? Need to know?" he asked.

"Yeah," she answered. "Those were _infuriating_. Stan and I just had to hang around trying to figure out what was going on."

"You didn't like being kept in the dark?" Gibbs asked.

"Of course not," she fired back. "Hell, Jethro, we couldn't _do_ anything for you without any case information—and our seniority shouldn't have mattered; we were part of the team."

"It was to protect you," Gibbs said.

"Bullshit," Jenny responded. "We wanted to do the work. You were just busy using your _unorthodox_ methods—Jethro," she paused suspiciously. "Are you calling to talk about a case?"

He didn't answer.

"Gibbs," she prompted, arching an eyebrow. "Is it one of our cold cases?" she asked.

He grunted in the negative, and she herd him struggling with his better judgment.

"My old CO," he answered finally. "He's got a problem," Gibbs explained vaguely. "I've been keepin' the team out of it."

"Read them in," Jenny advised immediately.

"Jen," he protested.

"Jethro," she responded firmly. "They're more useful if they know what's happening. If it's a sticky situation," she hesitated. "Well, Jethro, if they're anything like Burley, Decker and I were, then they're willing to go down for you if they have to."

"You were the only one willing to go down for me," Jethro answered smugly.

She opened her mouth in scandalized surprised. She laughed, her shoulder shaking, and pushed her hair back with a wet, soapy hand, shaking her head in amusement.

"I'm glad to hear that, Jethro, I'd hate to think you were stepping out on me with Stan all those years ago," she said smoothly. She calmed down, blowing air out through her lips. "You called to talk about a case," she mused thoughtfully. "I feel important."

"You are important," he said bluntly. He quieted for a minute. "Might add another guy to the team," he ventured.

"Hmm?" she questioned. "You just hired that girl."

"Todd," he reminded her. "Yeah, but this kid's a techie, computer whiz," he explained. "I'm starting to think we need that stuff."

"I admire your foresight, Jethro," she said sarcastically. She rolled her eyes to herself; of course Jethro would be the last to notice that computer skills were becoming vital in this day and age. "That would give you three people."

"Yeah."

"DiNozzo's got to be pretty experienced by now," Jenny said. "He's been with you as long as I've had Madeleine. You hire this new kid, and you could get over here more," she said.

"I could," he said, but he didn't sound sure—and he didn't commit. "Or you could come home," he finished stubbornly.

"I can't," she said bluntly.

They fell into silence, and Jenny struggled for something to say, hating the thought of losing the peace and calm she'd been so happy to have with a childless, workless afternoon. She couldn't find anything to say, though, and after a moment, he cleared his throat.

"Gotta get back to work, Jen," he said.

"I know," she sighed. "I will call tonight, right before bedtime," she said earnestly. "Madeleine hasn't talked to you in a while."

"I look forward to it," Gibbs said gruffly.

She said goodbye to him, and closed her flip phone, pressing it against her forehead and sinking down a little. He wasn't going to let her skirt around the issue; he was going to keep reminding her that the time was coming fast for her to make concrete decisions concerning Madeleine's future—and she had to think of it as _Madeleine's_ future, and not as hers.

Jenny sank down in the bath, closing her eyes tightly, and trying to quell the uncertainty and the fear the prospect of such a decision invoked in her blood.

* * *

><p>Walking into Abby's lab as she did a quirky impression of Ducky while surrounded by naked, headless baby dolls was not the weirdest moment of Gibbs' career, but it was up there. He slowed as he watched Abby triumphantly hold up a squashed, mangled bullet.<p>

"Does Ducky know you do that?" he asked, coming to a stop and raising a brow at her impersonation of the Scottish ME. Abby smirked and shot him a glance, still eyeing the bullet curiously.

"Hey Gibbs," she chirped brightly, lowering her hand. "I was just about to run this through the ballistics lab," she informed him. Gibbs gave her a curt nod, hoping that would give them some direction in this case.

The shooting of a Marine recruiter had him irritated and tense, and he wanted answers—Kate was taking a long time to sort through the old recruits of Gunnery Sergeant Alvarez. It wasn't her fault, but he had the inkling that if it had all been computerized, it'd be faster. He could get Agent McGee up here again and further prove to Morrow that it was necessary he be put on Gibbs' team.

"Good," Gibbs said. "When you're done, I want to see that mock up of the trajectory on the computer," he said. Abby pranced towards an evidence jar, and Gibbs turned his eyes warily on the mass of naked, headless dolls. He looked at DiNozzo, who was looking suspiciously at the same scene.

"Why are all of these dolls naked?" Gibbs asked under his breath.

DiNozzo held up his hands and backed away.

"Don't look at me, Boss," he muttered. "Must be a Goth thing," he added, turning on his heel and scurrying out of the lab's creepy atmosphere.

Abby cozied up next to Gibbs, evidence jar in hand, and smirked as she watched him look over the somewhat comical, macabre scene. She spread her hand out gallantly over the eerie display of toys and looked at him slyly.

"You want one to take to your daughter?" she asked.

He turned his head and looked at her, snorting. Abby just grinned.

* * *

><p>Gibbs shone a flashlight around the dilapidated building he and DiNozzo were rummaging through, intent on finding their sniper's shooting nest. It was sometime after midnight and Gibbs had missed a call from Madeleine and Jenny. He had to admit he was more focused on solving this case for the moment; something in his gut told him this killer wasn't done.<p>

"Kind of reminds me of your apartment, DiNozzo," he remarked dryly, kicking debris out of his way. "Except for that minty fresh urine smell."

"Hey, I have a maid now," the kid protested sheepishly, stumbling over something in the dark.

"You can afford a maid?" Gibbs scoffed skeptically. The mentions of a maid made him think of Noemi, and he remembered he needed to get over there and show her the latest pictures of Madeleine.

"It's amazing what you can afford when you're not paying three alimonies," DiNozzo retorted smugly, sounding quite proud of himself. Gibbs whipped around and aimed his flashlight right at DiNozzo's face, glaring at him. DiNozzo squawked and held up his hand in protest, darting out of the line of light.

"_One_ alimony, DiNozzo," Gibbs corrected gruffly.

"Oh yeah, forgot you never married that Stephanie lady," DiNozzo mumbled. "And Diane got remarried to that FBI guy so I guess it's just the mysterious wife number one cashing in…hey, boss, Stephanie was pretty hot you think I can have her—"

Gibbs crouched down near a brick wall; unable to believe DiNozzo was about to ask for his ex-girlfriend's phone number. He wouldn't wish DiNozzo on any woman, and he certainly wouldn't put himself in a position to have contact with Stephanie again. Their relationship had ended unpleasantly.

Most of Gibbs' relationships seemed to do that, but at least Stephanie had lived to tell the tale.

"Hey DiNozzo, you got your knife on you?" he asked, changing the tune of the conversation.

"Rule number nine," Tony said loudly, clearly glad to have caught Gibbs slacking. "Never go anywhere without a knife."

"I know," Gibbs said smoothly, unsheathing his knife from his pocket. "I was just seein' if you were paying attention."

He heard DiNozzo give a frustrated sigh and carefully slid the blade of his knife into the cracks of a brick, frowning as he pulled it out. He inserted a scope, and saw exactly what he was afraid he'd find—something that would tell him this sniper was intelligent, methodical, and determined.

He was looking at a straight shot into the recruiting center.

* * *

><p>"NO."<p>

Jenny ignored the word, having given up a long time ago. She moved around in the kitchen, packing Madeleine's brown paper bag lunch for Montessori school. Her boots, with their small, slightly raised heel, clicked dully on the floor.

"NO."

Madeleine shouted again, sitting stubbornly in her chair and refusing to eat the cereal and banana slices Jenny had fixed for her. The three-year-old kicked her feet, her knees banging around the table, and slouched in her chair, scowling at Jenny. Jenny just rolled her eyes and ignored it again.

"I DON'T WANT THE 'NANAS," Madeleine informed Jenny at the top of her lungs.

In a completely random and utterly unpredictable turn of events, something had changed since breakfast yesterday and Madeleine had decided that she no longer liked bananas.

"You will eat them anyway," Jenny answered calmly.

"NO I WON'T."

If the shouting didn't stop soon, Jenny was going to lose her cool. Rebecca was sick, and Jenny had been forced to do some frazzled, hurried shuffling around with her schedule. Tali was going to be able to watch Madeleine later, but for now, Jenny was in charge, and the change in routine seemed to have upset the little girl.

Madeleine was angry because Jenny had sliced up the banana, when apparently Rebecca let Madeleine have the fun of peeling the fruit and munching on it by herself.

"There's too many 'nanas," Madeleine whined, kicking her feet again.

"Madeleine, it's the same amount as the uncut fruit," Jenny informed her, wrapping a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich and sliding it into Madeleine's lunch bag. She smiled at her daughter, ignoring the child's unruly mood. "I used raspberry jam instead of strawberry because I know it's your favorite," she said kindly.

She didn't have a problem with being annoyingly sweet to her daughter even if she felt like smacking her smart little mouth. She knew it was patronizing, but she was the parent here, and she was doing her best not to start shouting right back at Madeleine.

"I want ham for lunch," Madeleine snapped.

"You can't take ham to school," Jenny reminded her.

"Kosher is stupid," Madeleine said grumpily, in Hebrew.

"We do _not_ use that word, young lady," Jenny responded sharply, switching to Hebrew.

Madeleine sank down in her chair a little more and began picking at her cheerios, ignoring her spoon and using her fingers. Jenny sighed and stapled Madeleine's lunch bag closed, biting her lip in annoyance. She wasn't sure she was handling Madeleine's outburst of attitude correctly; at points she thought she was being too soft, and then she thought she was being way too tough on the child.

She hadn't spoken to Jethro in a while; he was in the middle of a serial sniper case, according to Ducky, and he was exhibiting his usual pissed off, dog-with-a-bone agent traits. Jenny didn't want to get in the middle of it and throw him off scent.

She dreaded speaking to him again, frankly. She didn't want the subject of their future coming up again—not now.

Jenny left the kitchen, holding Madeleine's lunch bag, and sat down next to the little girl, picking up the coffee cup she'd left near Madeleine's booster seat. She leaned forward on the table and tapped her finger on the plate of bananas.

"Eat these bananas, _ahuva_, and then we can go," she said calmly.

"I don't like you," Madeleine said, folding her arms.

Jenny couldn't help but grin at the immature, snotty little comment. She smirked and reached out, stroking Madeleine's light auburn hair back with a gentle hand. Jenny wrinkled her nose and swiped a banana off the plate.

"You can dislike me all you want but you still have to love me," she teased, tickling Madeleine's stomach gently. Madeleine tried very hard not to smile. Jenny grinned again. Madeleine picked up a banana and held it up to Jenny's mouth insistently.

"I love you if _you_ eat the 'nanas," she negotiated brilliantly.

Jenny sighed, carefully removing Madeleine's sneaky hand from her lips.

Here she sat in her apartment in Israel, newly appointed NCIS Assistant Director of Counterterrorism, unable to get a three-year-old to eat her damn bananas and too cowardly to call the child's father and tell him she'd gotten the promotion that would keep her in the Middle East.

* * *

><p>Ziva David watched curiously as her young sister played with Jenny Shepard's young child. She was pleased that Tali delighted so much in the youngster, but it also troubled her that Tali was so attached to the little girl. Ziva was glad she had never allowed herself to love Madeleine like Tali did.<p>

"Tali," Ziva said calmly, breaking into the calm silence. Tali looked up, lifting the silly hat she had on her head. Madeleine looked over, too, grinning at Ziva. The two girls were playing a game that was half-dress up, half colouring.

"Yes?"

"Have you heard from Ari?" Ziva asked mildly.

"I have not," Tali answered. She glanced at Madeleine and switched to Yiddish so the child wouldn't be able to pick anything up. "I heard father saying he did not check in with you at the appropriate time."

Ziva inclined her head.

"He did not," she agreed. The older David hesitated briefly. "He has not been in his assigned position the past two times I have monitored him," she added in a murmur. "The Director is not pleased."

"Will you please call him Aba, Ziva?" Tali asked, her brown eyes pleading.

"No," Ziva answered in a clipped, final tone. Tali smiled sadly and shrugged, turning back to colour a little more with Madeleine.

"Ari is executing a dangerous mission," she said practically. "He had been given quite a bit of rope to make his cover work. I doubt there is much reason to worry that he is in danger or compromised."

"All the same," Ziva said moodily. "There is something strange about his inconsistency."

"Zee, he is our _brother_," Tali said sadly, turning to look at Ziva. "He is good."

"The Director is our father," Ziva said coldly. "And he is neither good nor trustworthy."

Tali bit her lip, looking meaningfully at her sister.

"There is too much darkness in your soul," she murmured.

"There is too much light in yours," Ziva responded, giving Tali a lopsided, small smile.

Tali cocked her head. She smiled.

"Perhaps that means Ari is just the right mix of light and dark," she said optimistically.

"Perhaps it means for Ari, there is only emptiness," Ziva answered pessimistically.

They looked at each other, uncertain. Ari had always been a mystery, a brother they knew of and interacted with but did not grow up with. He had seemed a large, fun figure when they were small and he visited to play, and now they barely remembered the careful bear of a boy he had been.

He was a lean killer, now, as Ziva was a lean killer, and Tali held on to her youth and her compassion, desperate to escape from the same fate but careful not to show her disgust at the violence. Ziva rarely spoke to her sister—or to anyone—about her feelings, but she bit her lip now, desperate to tell Tali how badly she wished the younger girl would get herself out of this war torn region and find something wonderful and peaceful.

"Tali," she said softly. "Have you told," Ziva paused, struggling with the word, "father. Have you told father of your plans to attend that university in America?"

The look on Tali's face gave Ziva her answer, and then and there, Ziva resolved to fight for her sister's right to make her own choices—and decide against Mossad.

* * *

><p>Gibbs was halfway through a grueling day of uncomfortable, uniformed undercover work when his cell phone lit up with Jenny's international number. He ignored the call, but when she called right back the moment his phone went to voicemail, he chose to answer, fearing it must be an emergency.<p>

"Gibbs," he grunted. He barely had time to get the word out before Jenny's voice came blaring out of the speaker, ignoring his greeting.

"Jethro, put a bullet proof vest on right now," she snapped forcefully.

He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it, utterly shocked. He blinked, unable to fathom how the hell Jenny was aware he was undercover, much less forgoing the bulletproof vest. From across the room, Kate looked over, her brow furrowing in concern.

"Everything okay, Gibbs?" she asked.

He snapped out of his amazed reverie and nodded curtly, bringing the phone back to his ear and lowering his voice.

"Jenny," he growled. "Why the hell are you calling me?"

"Put a vest on," she said aggressively. "Dammit, Jethro, this isn't the young and the fearless in Paris anymore, you have a child, _put a vest on_!"

"Who told you?" he demanded, keeping his voice low. Kate narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing him with interest.

"Your lab tech," growled Jenny. "The girl, the excitable one, she was worried," Jenny sounded irritated not only that she'd gotten a call from a woman she barely knew, but because she was having to tell Gibbs he had to be more careful now.

"I'm fine," Gibbs placated. "It doesn't work with the uniform."

"As attractive as I suppose you look in uniform, Jethro," Jenny began, "I don't want to see you in it when I'm burying you. It wasn't too long ago that Madeleine couldn't sleep from fear of losing you so I suggest you _take precautions_."

Gibbs leaned back, looking up as the recruitment office door opened and a troubled looking kid came in. Kate indicated that Gibbs should get off the phone and he sighed, turning away to hide his face a little.

"Jen, I'll put it on," he assured her. "I've got to go."

"_Jethro_."

"Goodbye, Jenny," he said a little louder than he meant to. He winced; there was no way Kate hadn't overheard her name.

Gibbs threw his phone on the desk tensely and rubbed his forehead, looking up to glare at Kate; he preferred to circumvent questions before they arose. She held her hands up in surrender and smirked slightly.

"None of my business, Gibbs," she said gruffly, pointing to the kid who'd just walked in. "Get to work, Marine."

She was relishing acting as his boss a little too much.

* * *

><p>Madeleine sat quietly and politely in her mother's lap, tying and untying the laces on the little ankle boots Jenny had her wearing. The adults were talking, and Madeleine knew that if she were good and behaved, it would make Mommy happy. Madeleine liked it when Mommy was happy.<p>

"Have you decided whether or not you will take your promotion?" Eli David asked, looking with interest at Shepard's daughter's shoe-tying skills.

Jenny held Madeleine loosely around her middle, looking at Director David across his intimidating desk. Her lips twisted in an uncertain frown and she shook her head a fraction.

"I haven't spoken to Gibbs," she said bluntly.

Eli chuckled.

"Ah, but Jenny, I doubt you are the type of woman who lets another rule your decisions," he said silkily. "It would not surprise me if you have made your decision, and you simply put on as if you are consulting Agent Gibbs."

She looked at him coolly for a moment and then moved her hand up to stroke Madeleine's hair, pulling her daughter's head against her chest gently. Madeleine looked up and grinned, flashing her little baby teeth and batting her eyes gratefully at the attention.

"She rules my decisions," Jenny said tightly. It was the first time she had whole-heartedly felt it to be true; Madeleine was getting older, smarter, more interactive and wonderful every day—and in years past, Jethro had tried to shout it into her that Madeleine had to be the number one factor, but in a way that was almost frightening, Jenny had failed to recognize that particular maternal drive until these past few weeks.

Eli smirked.

"Children," he murmured. "They do tend to influence us," he glanced off over Jenny's shoulder, as if thinking back, and when he turned back to her, his eyes were sharp and inquiring. "You have heard of this plan my youngest has in her head," he began, waving his hand dismissively, "college in America?"

Jenny nodded curtly.

Madeleine raised her hand.

"Tali's going to go where my Aba lives," she informed Director David seriously, in very polite, careful Hebrew. Something about the tall, big man made her try her very best to sound grown-up and smart like Mommy.

Eli managed a tight smile.

"We shall see," he said carefully, the forced smile fixed on his lips.

"Tali deserves to make her own decisions," Jenny spoke up defensively. She owed a lot to the precocious teenager; many missions would not have been possible of Tali had not been so generous with her attentions to Madeleine. "She has earned that right, Eli," Jenny softened her voice.

The director looked tired; he looked angered at the thought, saddened, and heartened by it all at the same time.

"It is something her mother would have wanted for her fiercely," he admitted absently, his eyes drifting away again. "I, however, do not take to the idea of losing Tali."

Jenny pursed her lips.

"Eli," she said gently. "Shouldn't you look at it as saving her?" she asked.

He eyed her darkly. He knew she was right, on some level. He could selfishly keep Tali close, and close himself off to her in the way he did with Ziva and Ari, and he would probably outlive her; or he could let her go, and perhaps hear about the long, happy life she could lead.

Eli cleared his through roughly and abruptly shifted the topic.

"You have been given until when to accept your new NCIS position?" he asked.

"First of May," Jenny answered.

"NCIS," Madeleine said in Hebrew. She pursed her lips and tilted her head, imitating Jenny's hesitant look. Jenny smiled at her indulgently and stroked her hair again. Madeleine went back to playing with her laces.

"And if you do not accept?" Eli asked.

"I put in for a transfer to a state side field office," Jenny said, swallowing hard.

Eli clicked his tongue.

"That would be a pity," he said boldly. "Mossad would relish having a trusted contact in such a beneficial position in Cairo."

Jenny smiled weakly. She was not going to tell the Director, but she had all but made her decision. There were just a few things she had to feel out with Jethro before she could really throw caution to the winds. She couldn't begin to put into words how terrified she felt at the moment. She had already taken one subtle step; she was going to talk to Jethro soon—she only hoped he'd be able to get to Israel for Easter; seeing his face would help reassure her.

Eli leaned forward.

"We shall value your unique position as a liaison between the Mossad and American intelligence agencies in the next few weeks," he said, signaling the end of their meeting. He bestowed upon her a rare, genuine smile. "Just as we have valued your presence overall."

Jenny smiled and stood up, swinging Madeleine effortlessly onto her hip.

It wasn't time for goodbyes yet; it was only the beginning of April. She would no doubt be working in this complex heavily for a few more weeks, though she might have no more contact with Eli. Holding Madeleine against her, she studied Eli carefully—thinking suddenly that, without the grudging support of this man, it would not have been at all possible for her to keep Madeleine.

"Eli," she said thickly. "Do you remember when you asked me to have an abortion?"

He looked up at her, his expression unreadable. He nodded curtly.

Jenny took a deep breath.

She spoke in Hebrew:

"Thank you for accepting my refusal," she said sincerely.

He looked down at his work silently, his lips tightly shut. She turned to go, and almost felt him lift his eyes to her back. Madeleine lifted her nose and waved at Eli, and he cleared his throat.

"Do not think I would deny any woman a Tali or a Ziva of their own."

Jenny paused in the doorway and smiled to herself, pleasantly surprised by the heartfelt expression of love from the cold, untouchable director of Mossad.

* * *

><p>Abby tilted her perky head at Gibbs as he stood next to her.<p>

"When are you going back?" she asked conspiratorially, lowering her voice even though they were alone in the lab.

"Easter," he answered vaguely.

Abby squealed and clapped her hands.

"That's not too far!" she beamed at him and tossed her arms out to pull him in for a hug. He couldn't help but grin; Abby's emotions were contagious. "Gibbs, you must miss them so much," she sighed.

He nodded, politely stepping away from her grasp. She entwined her fingers and stood staring at him with a crooked smile and shining eyes.

"When is Madeleine's birthday?" she asked curiously.

"August," Gibbs answered.

"Oh, not so close then," Abby frowned. "I want to get her something next time," she said, wagging her finger at Gibbs brightly. "Hmmm, maybe I'll get her something anyway, so she'll like me already when she meets me," Abby paused suddenly, and narrowed her eyes at Gibbs insistently. "I will get to meet her, right, Gibbs?"

He smiled at Abby, and nodded.

"Soon?" prompted Abby hopefully.

"That's up to her mother," Gibbs responded with a shrug. Abby grumbled under her breath and turned back to her computer, tapping her foot and waiting impatiently.

"I don't know why; she's _your_ baby, too," Abby muttered loyally. The perky Goth frowned again and glanced at Gibbs hesitantly. "Do you even _like_ Madeleine's mother? Or did you just miss out on the high school pregnancy scare and get it when you were fifty and now you're _stuck_ with her?"

"Abs," Gibbs said, a warning creeping into his voice. "I'm not fifty."

"You didn't answer my question," she said, smirking a little.

"It's none of your business," he said curtly, narrowing his eyes. She bit her lip, realizing she had gone too far. She turned back to her computer, considering whether or not she should keep talking to him. She sighed, and whirled back to face him.

"I looked her up," she admitted, looking guilty. "Ducky slipped up and mentioned her by name and I did some sleuthing and," Abby bit her lip. "She works for us."

"Abby."

"She was your _partner_."

"_Abby_."

Abby stopped talking, but she smiled a little. She looked at him intently for a moment, chewing on her lip, and then giggled, lifting her shoulders and palms in an innocent way.

"Oops," she remarked slyly. "Is that why Tony isn't allowed to know?" she asked wickedly.

Gibbs turned on his heel to leave, but Abby reached out and stopped him, clinging to his arm. She protested; she liked their little secret conversations, and she didn't want Gibbs to scurry away because she'd gotten too personal.

"How long are you staying in Israel this time?" she asked sincerely.

"A week and a half," Gibbs answered, after considering her for a minute. Abby looked pleasantly surprised.

"Is that because you hired McGee?" she asked brightly, tilting her head again. "Tony's been here for years now, and Kate can keep him in check—oh, Gibbs, we can trust our babies to run the place alone!" she squealed, clapping.

Gibbs gently disentangled from her and leaned forward to kiss her cheek.

"Abs, I'm only concerned about my baby," he said gruffly, leaving her to her work in the lab.

* * *

><p>It was almost unnerving, the way her schedule opened up so much once her official contract with Mossad was terminated and she was in a limbo period of working <em>with<em> the organization but not _in_ the organization. With no late night operations to sit in on, run, or analyze, and no hands-on intelligence issues to work through, Jenny had only one full-time job: being a mother to a vivacious three and a half year old.

It was a daunting prospect for her. She had always had work to escape to if she felt overwhelmed by Madeleine; in an almost laughable way, dealing with cross-national, ruthless terrorists didn't stress her out as much as dealing with her daughter. Jenny had always had her insecurities about the job she did as a parent, but she usually allowed Jethro to assuage them—or allowed her subconscious to bury them.

She had thought they had a good system; she had thought she was getting good at this. Now she wasn't so sure. The past few days had been filled with Jenny trying not to disrupt Madeleine's usual schedule, as well as Madeleine frequently saying things like "Becca does it this way" or "Becca and I do it different".

What was almost worse was the curious, surprised looks she'd gotten when she picked Madeleine up from Montessori school today; not a single woman or man there had recognized Jenny, and one of the instructors had stopped her to verify her identity.

Jenny's hand was shaking as she opened her apartment door and she felt drained from the disconcerting experience; there were a lot of things she was uncertain about, but she was absolutely positive that when she had to _prove_ she was Madeleine's mother, she was doing something wrong.

Madeleine darted through her legs and into the apartment, happy to be home. She kicked her sandals off on the floor next to a hall table, and Jenny dropped her keys into a bowl on the table. Madeleine was singing in Hebrew, happy, and perfectly unfazed by Jenny's discomfort.

"Ima," she called conversationally, her voice getting more far away as she pranced into her room.

Jenny rubbed her forehead and followed the little voice, leaning in the doorway of Madeleine's slightly cluttered bedroom. She smiled, and Madeleine giggled, kneeling down and taking off her backpack.

"What are you doing, sweetheart?" Jenny asked, showing interest.

"Ima," Madeleine said urgently. "It's a surprise!" she responded seriously, rummaging in her bag.

"Let's speak English," Jenny said softly.

"Yes," Madeleine obeyed. "Yes, Mama," she said, standing up. She whirled around quickly and stood staring at Jenny excitedly, holding something behind her back. She stomped her foot and widened her eyes, struggling and then pulling one hand out to wave Jenny forward.

Jenny smiled and crept forward, sliding down to her knees in front of Madeleine. Madeleine's cheeks flushed and her green eyes glittered and Jenny chewed the inside of her lip, amazed—as she sometimes was—by the reflection of Jethro that was present in Madeleine's nose, and the way she smirked proudly.

Madeleine swept her hand out from behind her back and opened her mouth excitedly, showing off her teeth. Jenny looked down, eyebrows raised, and her eyes fell on a folded, lumpy piece of paper in Madeleine's hands. She looked through her lashes at her daughter and opened her mouth in surprise.

"What's this?" she asked.

"It's for you!" Madeleine said happily. "Open, open, open!"

Jenny took the paper carefully and unfolded it, opening her palm to catch what was about to fall out of it. She caught a string of odd little objects as it fell out of the makeshift card and held it up, her brow furrowing. She held a thin, leather ribbon with different sized and different coloured beads strung on it—among other things, like uncooked macaroni and decorative buttons.

Madeleine clapped her hands happily, and Jenny looked at the card more carefully; it was a glittery, bright green and pink mess with semi-neat, three-year-old Hebrew handwriting on it.

She barely had time to read it before Madeleine leapt forward into her arms and bounced up and down.

"Happy-birthday-Mommy-I-Love-You!" she said in a rush, trying to snuggle up in Jenny's lap and kiss her on the cheek. Jenny accepted the affection, stunned, and still admiring the juvenile, creative work of her daughter.

"Madeleine," Jenny murmured, her brow furrowing more. "Maddie, Emmy," she murmured, trying to get her attention.

"That's _Daddy's_ nickname," Madeleine pointed out smartly. Jenny nodded, tilting her head. She held up the homemade card, swallowing to try and keep her voice steady.

"How did you know it was my birthday?" she asked.

There was no way Madeleine had the capability to—well, to really know when it was at all. The only birthday she'd ever celebrated was her own.

Madeleine shrugged, biting her nail with a smile on her lips. She looked a little bashful.

"Daddy said so," she mumbled. She tilted her head. "No, no, Aba tells Tali, Tali and Becca help me," she said, mumbling through Hebrew in English. She smiled proudly and nodded, reaching out to stroke Jenny's hand. "I made necklace, but Miss Sara tied the knots," she said seriously, referring to her Montessori teacher.

Jenny shifted to a sitting position and pulled Madeleine tightly into her lap. She carefully laid the card on the floor in front of her and then examined the necklace, toughing it gingerly. Madeleine looked up, her eyes wide and uncertain.

"Is it pretty?" she asked. "I make something pretty for you."

Jenny nodded sincerely. She ignored how caught off guard she was by Madeleine's references to her father and looked down, meeting the young green eyes that were a copy of her own. She lifted it around her neck and tied the necklace in a loose knot, adjusting it around her throat. She raised her eyebrows at Madeleine.

"I think it's _too_ pretty for me," she said, swallowing hard again.

Madeleine's eyes lit up. She scrambled out of Jenny's lap and pranced around, her hair bouncing with her. Her foot landed on the card she'd made and she slipped, falling onto her butt—but she just giggled, looking up at Jenny. She gasped, her face falling.

"Ima," she cried, falling into Hebrew immediately. The fact that Madeleine was much better at it than English was another reminder to Jenny that she hadn't been enough of a constant presence in her daughter's life, even though she wasn't the one living overseas.

"Ima," Madeleine asked, saddened. "Why the tears?"

"Don't be afraid," Jenny said leaning forward and cupping Madeleine's face in her hands gently. She smiled. "It's okay, Madeleine, I am okay," she soothed, speaking English. "Crying doesn't always mean sad, do you understand?"

Madeleine stared at her. She nodded slowly, looking as if she were concentrating. She frowned still, getting up and dropping into Jenny's lap. She snuggled close.

"I don't like your cries," she said, switching back to English, and mixing up her nouns and verbs.

"I don't like it when you cry, either," Jenny responded, kissing Madeleine's cheek.

"I cry when I'm sad!" Madeleine said, looking up. "You only cry when sad, okay?" she asked. "Maybe not then," Madeleine added seriously.

Jenny burst into laughter, tilting her head back. Her eyes still stung, because she was busy being emotional and touched by Madeleine's thoughtfulness, but the reaction the child had to Jenny's crying was so very—

"You sound like your father," Jenny said. She cleared her throat and hugged Madeleine. "Thank you for my necklace," she murmured into Madeleine's hair. "I love you," she said, kissing the crown of auburn hair.

Jenny rested her cheek on her daughter's hair and closed her eyes, amazed by how much better a simple, sincere childish gift had made her feel about herself.

* * *

><p>Gibbs stormed into the midst of the bullpen and waited for the team to look up at him—or, in Tony's case, leap to his feet like a loyal St. Bernard, eager to do the bidding of the master.<p>

"I'm leaving," Gibbs announced bluntly.

DiNozzo looked dejected.

"Again, boss?" he whined.

Gibbs glared at him, and DiNozzo shut his trap. McGee looked up worriedly, still jumpy and nervous around everyone—particularly Gibbs. Kate sat back in her chair, looking at him obediently and waiting. Gibbs decided to focus on Kate; she was the most sensible one in the bullpen.

"I'll be gone ten days," he said gruffly. "If anything big comes up, Abby will put you in touch with me," he said. "All you've got to do right now is wrap up the two cases we just closed and file them away."

It shouldn't be hard; it had been the Marine who'd been falsely accused of murdering his wife—who had almost ended up back in Leavenworth—and the little blind girl who had been kidnapped at her twisted father's behest.

"Uh, boss?" asked Tony hesitantly. "Uh, why are you telling us this?" he asked, glancing at Kate uncertainly. "I mean, you usually just disappear."

Gibbs shrugged.

"Things changed," he said vaguely.

"What _things_?" snorted DiNozzo, thrusting a finger at McGee. "Probie? You warning him because he's so twitchy?" DiNozzo imitated a comical sort of seizure; McGee flushed and Kate frowned in annoyance.

"Leave him alone, Tony," she snapped at him.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes at DiNozzo and waited for the bullpen to quiet down.

"Nah, DiNozzo, I'm warning you," he said coolly. "You're in charge," he said, going to his desk and grabbing his things. He locked everything up, listening to DiNozzo gasp and squawk like a half-strangled chicken.

Gibbs started to leave and stopped in front of Tony's desk.

"And yeah," he said gruffly. "It's a test."

DiNozzo grinned and, in a moment that clearly indicated he had taken a leave of his sanity, he leapt forward and threw himself at Gibbs in a bear hug, clapping Gibbs on the back enthusiastically. Kate stared in front of her, eyes wide, her mouth hanging open in shock. Tony was about to shoot a smug comment at her, when he realized, quite suddenly, that he was _hugging_ Gibbs.

He leapt away as if he'd been burned, his face blanching.

Gibbs glared at him.

"Uh, I'm sorry—I mean, I'm not apologizing because that's against," Tony fumbled with words and turned red. He performed a half-assed salute. "Won't let you down, Boss," he assured Gibbs, clearly embarrassed.

Gibbs rolled his eyes and left the bullpen, shooting Kate an almost sympathetic look. She glared at him, obviously unhappy to be left under the authority of Tony DiNozzo. Gibbs smirked at her and stepped into the elevator. He figured he'd regret leaving DiNozzo in charge, but the moment the elevator doors closed, he put thoughts of the team in the back of his mind for the next ten days.

* * *

><p>Gibbs was troubled by the unfamiliar feeling of foreboding that mixed with the usual anticipatory excitement that came with flying to Israel to see Madeleine. He didn't have a bad feeling—it was more like an uncomfortable hunch that was nagging at him—but he couldn't think what it was.<p>

He was six hours into his flight, on the home stretch, and he hadn't been able to sleep yet. He was restless, and he was sore and cramped from the flight. There was no point in trying to sleep now; he would arrive in Tel Aviv a little after noon, and he didn't want to be groggy when he surprised Jenny.

He had called her to tell her he wouldn't be able to make it. It was an almost cruel thing to do—but he liked surprising her, just as he'd always thought it amusing to tell Shannon he was coming home days later than he actually was, just for the pleasure of seeing the complete shock light up her face when he walked through the door.

He knew Jenny was bored. She didn't have much responsibility since her contract with Mossad had ended, and she was getting a taste of what it was like to have a kid and no job to retreat to for a break. She hadn't come out and said it, but Gibbs knew her well enough to guess that the novelty had worn off, and she was antsy and eager to get back to hands on, fast-paced _work_.

Gibbs leaned his head back and looked up at the plane's ceiling, his mind drifting once again to their cross-national parenting situation. He scowled and turned to look out the window, pushing the thought from his head almost immediately.

He didn't want to go into Israel with negative thoughts, so instead, he thought about the smile that would be on Madeleine's face when he brought out the presents he had for her.

* * *

><p>Gibbs was careful to be quiet as he unlocked Jenny's apartment door, wincing when the door clicked boldly as he turned the knob. He put his key between his teeth and bit down to hold it while he dragged his luggage inside. He closed the door and stiffened as he heard the cold, familiar sound of a pistol being cocked.<p>

It was hard to describe the confusion and terror that gripped him as he turned around, spit the keys from his mouth, reached for his gun—and simultaneously realized he wasn't carrying, and that Ari Haswari had a smooth, black pistol trained on him.

That Haswari had his eyes closed calmly was disconcerting enough; that Gibbs' three-year-old child was playing quietly on the couch, mere inches away from a loaded gun, was cause enough for Gibbs to justify strangling the man with his bare hands.

He had to do lightening-fast thinking, because he didn't want to scare Madeleine by shouting expletives at the top of his lungs.

Madeleine, with a simple word, diffused the situation before Gibbs had decided how to proceed.

"Aba," she said clearly, tilting her head.

She pushed away the toy ponies she had in her hands and climbed over Haswari's legs, hopping clumsily off the couch and standing a little shyly by the coffee table. She was dressed in a little school outfit that resembled a Catholic uniform, but didn't have the classic plaid. When she identified her father, and climbed off the couch, Haswari popped an eye open and lowered his weapon, uncocking it nonchalantly.

Gibbs hesitated, torn between ripping Haswari to pieces and crouching to his knees to sweep Madeleine into his arms. In a split second, he decided in favor of the latter, because he didn't want his daughter to witness his anger.

"Emmy," he said gently, kneeling down uncomfortably. She pranced forward, stopping in front of him, her head still tilted curiously. She put her hands to her mouth uncertainly and backed up when he reached out to touch her.

"Aba?" she asked uncertainly.

"It's me," he assured her. He said the Hebrew word that meant he was a safe individual.

"But Ima said you stay in States," she said, her brow furrowing.

Gibbs smirked. He held his hand out until she placed hers in it, and then he picked her up and hugged her tightly and gave her a long, protective kiss on the cheek that made her giggle bashfully and squirm, ticklish.

"I'm surprising you," he said secretively. "Is Mama here?"

Madeleine nodded. She spoke in Hebrew and Gibbs frowned.

"What?" he asked. "Emmy, Daddy doesn't speak Hebrew," he said tensely.

"She asked you to put her down," Haswari spoke up coolly.

Madeleine blinked and nodded, smiling sweetly.

"Floor, please," she said.

Gibbs allowed her to slip out of his arms onto her feet and she darted out of the parlor towards the back rooms of the apartment. Gibbs immediately turned his attentions to the tall, feral man on Jenny's sofa, his features darkening immensely.

"What the _hell_ are you thinking, cocking a gun around my daughter?" he demanded curtly, approaching the younger male aggressively.

Haswari sat up on the couch, cradling his weapon as if it were a precious jewel.

"Merely that Jenny had not said to expect a visitor, and that I may need to protect the child she had entrusted me with."

"You know damn well I'm the only person with a key to this apartment!" barked Gibbs, his eyes narrowing.

"Perhaps a part of me itches to shoot you, Agent Gibbs," Haswari said, his lips drawing back in a snarling smile.

If that was Haswari's brand of dry humor, Gibbs didn't find it the least bit amusing. He took it as a direct threat and bared his own teeth, lunging forward unexpectedly and grasping a handful of Haswari's hair at the nape of his neck; Haswari was caught off guard, but after a moment he recovered his bearings and shoved the barrel of his weapon into Gibbs' thigh.

"Do not raise a weapon in the presence of my daughter again, you son of a bitch," Gibbs snarled.

"Stop."

Gibbs looked up when he heard the hoarse order, and he looked up to see Jenny stumbling forward quickly to yank Madeleine around and prevent her from seeing Haswari holding a gun to her father's leg.

"Stop," Jenny hissed again, her hand firmly on the back of Madeleine's head as she pressed it into her knee. "Let go of him, Jethro, and Ari, put that pistol away _now_."

The look on her face was painful for Gibbs to see; this wasn't at all the way he'd wanted the surprise reunion to go. She looked like she'd just woken up—she was pale, in wrinkled lounge clothes, and her hair was messily tied back. She swallowed and lifted her hand; he noticed it was shaking.

"Ari," she said quietly. He stood and held his hands up in surrender, turning away from Gibbs; he knew what Jenny was going to ask, so she didn't continue. The eldest David kissed Jenny's cheek, and then crouched to ruffle Madeleine's hair.

Haswari met Gibbs' eyes one last time as he left the apartment, gone like a wisp of black smoke, and for a surreal moment, Gibbs wasn't sure he'd ever been there at all—it was such a strange, unbelievable thing to have occurred.

Why was Ari Haswari hanging out in Jenny's apartment, of all places?

Once again, Madeleine fixed an awkward situation. She wriggled away from Jenny and pointed at Gibbs happily, putting her other hand on her hip sassily.

"I told you," she said, looking up at Jenny primly.

Jenny looked at him tensely, her mouth pursed in worry and surprise and relief. She reached down and smoothed Madeleine's head gently, nodding, and then crossed the space between them; she slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him, her lips shaking slightly. Gibbs was surprised by the overly affectionate welcome, but he wasn't complaining.

"You bastard," she muttered, kissing him shortly again. "You _bastard_, you've got to stop pretending you won't make it," she said hoarsely. She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to his. "I'm so happy to see you," she added, biting her lip.

He grinned at the words and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, hugging her close enough so that her whole body fit against him tightly. He ran his hand up her back under her shirt and pressed his fingers into her skin.

"You're warm," he noted, concerned.

"I'm sick," she admitted, a little dejectedly.

"What was he doing here, Jen?" Gibbs asked in her ear.

She sighed heavily.

"It's complicated," she answered. "He was helping me—he—just drop it," she said.

Gibbs pulled back, and kissed her forehead. He frowned.

"He cocked a gun right in front of her," he said, hostile, keeping his voice low.

Madeleine interrupted them.

"Aba, Mama wants sleep," she said, tiptoeing up to him and grabbing his pant leg seriously. "You let her go."

"Oh she does?" Gibbs asked, releasing Jenny and reaching to swing Madeleine onto his hip. "Is that why you were playing with the scary man?" he asked tensely.

Madeleine giggled.

"Ari is not scary," she said. She began speaking in halting Hebrew and laughed to herself. Gibbs just smiled a little uncertainly. Jenny pushed strands of hair out of her face and folded her arms, smiling apologetically. Gibbs face changed suddenly, Jenny's words clicking into place for the first time.

"You're sick?" he asked, concerned.

"I've just been stressed," she said. "I have some allergies, probably a spring cold," she waved her hand. "It's nothing, I just wanted an hour or two for a nap."

Gibbs frowned, and then looked at Madeleine, raising her eyebrows.

"Why don't you and I get a snack while Mama finishes her nap?" he asked slowly, unsure if she'd be comfortable enough to accept his offer. Madeleine tilted her head back and forth, thinking about it.

"I don't know you that well," she blurted out bluntly, looking Gibbs in the eye.

He felt like he'd been sucker punched in the gut. Jenny bit her lip and sucked in her breath, clicking her tongue rapidly.

"Madeleine," she said sadly. "Maddie, you'll hurt his feelings," she said, stepping up closer and pursing her lips. "You know Daddy as well as you know me," Jenny said earnestly.

Madeleine looked afraid. She didn't want to make anyone sad, but Mommy was wrong; Madeleine didn't even know Daddy's favorite colour or what he looked like when he was sleeping. If she did, she didn't remember any of it, even if Mommy was saying she should.

She retreated to Hebrew and spoke seriously and quietly.

"What did she say?" Gibbs asked immediately.

He only recognized one word.

Jenny looked at her daughter tiredly and glanced at Jethro through her lashes, sighing.

"Jenny," he said urgently. "Translate."

"She said she knows you like she knows Ari," Jenny admitted. "She sees you as often as Ari."

Gibbs tore his eyes away from Jenny's and looked at Madeleine. He felt like he couldn't breathe. She smiled at him a little, obviously confused by what she was missing. Jenny reached out and spoke to Madeleine, but it was like buzzing in his ears.

"Jethro, it isn't your fault," Jenny said sincerely.

"I know," he answered curtly. He turned and sat down on the couch, leaning forward on his knees. Madeleine whimpered at Jenny, perceptively realizing she had upset her parents.

"I'm sorry," she said in a small voice.

"Don't apologize," Jenny soothed, almost laughing at the irony of her words. "Honey, you didn't do anything wrong."

Gibbs lifted his palms and put his face in his hands; he held his eyes shut tightly and swallowed hard, and in that moment, he bitterly missed the close, trusting, beautiful relationship he'd always had with Kelly.

* * *

><p>Gibbs raised one eyebrow uncertainly as he picked at the plate of food in front of him. It wasn't exactly that he didn't trust her—Jenny insisted that she had learned how to cook, and Madeleine was alive, so there had to be some truth to it—but old habits died hard and the thought of putting something that Jenny had cooked into his mouth brought back unpleasant, Parisian memories of half-raw meat and tough, over-cooked pasta.<p>

It wasn't helping that Jenny was standing right next to him with her hand on her him, waiting for him to taste.

She pointed at Madeleine.

"_She's_ eating it," the redhead said matter-of-factly.

Madeleine looked at Jenny happily from her booster seat and munched quietly on the chopped up pieces of grilled chicken Jenny had portioned onto her plate. Gibbs tilted his head at her and leaned forward.

"Is your mom a good cook, Emmy?" he asked.

She nodded, holding up a piece of chicken.

"Yum," she said, still nodding her head. "Healthy," she added.

Gibbs snorted. Jenny sighed and her hand slipped off her hip. She walked around and put her hands on Gibbs' shoulders, rubbing gently and leaning down to kiss him on the temple in a homey, unexpected gesture.

"Gibbs," she whispered pleadingly. "You woke me up from my nap, I'm not feeling well, and yet I cooked dinner," she sighed. "Are you really not going to at least _try_ it?"

He glanced up at her and frowned at the underhanded tactics she'd employed, but nonetheless he stabbed his fork into the food and put it in his mouth obediently.

"Yum," Madeleine spoke up smugly, nodding her head. She was being remarkably quiet and observant from her booster seat, and it was contributing to a relaxed, calm atmosphere—much different from the chaotic moments of his arrival, and the charged tension that had resulted from all the excitement and settling in.

Gibbs chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, and tilted his head back, smirking.

"It's good, Jen," he said.

"Yeah, don't act so surprised," she muttered, pecking his cheek again, but smiling happily all the same. Gibbs grinned and took her hand, pulling her around and tugging her into his lap. The smile stayed on her face; she picked up his knife and speared asparagus stalks with it, waving them smugly in Gibbs' face. "These are Tali's recipe," she said, well aware that he hated the green vegetable.

"Jen, get that away from me," he growled, swatting her teasing hand.

"You'll hurt my feelings," Jenny tried, unable to turn on the pitiful, pleading face again. Gibbs grinned and swatted her gently again, trying to get past her hand with his fork to access more of the chicken.

Jenny laughed out loud, lowering her hand a little.

"No play with food," Madeleine piped up, glaring at them from her spot. Jenny sobered up immediately, setting the knife back on Gibbs' plate. She moved to get up, but Jethro didn't quite let her go. He did, however, make a show of looking admonished by the three-year-old.

"Aba," Madeleine said conversationally. "Eat your veggies."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes and stared at her, taken aback. A gleeful grin lit up Jenny's face and she tilted her head to look at her former partner expectantly, arching an eyebrow to see what he would do. She expected him to do the noble thing and set a good example for her father, as any average father would grudgingly do for his child.

She forgot to factor in that Jethro wasn't _average_.

"I'm forty-five. I don't have to eat vegetables," he retorted seriously.

"Jethro," hissed Jenny, rolling her eyes. She flicked her finger at the asparagus on his knife. "Eat it," she snapped under her breath.

Madeleine just blinked at him and then frowned.

"Mommy says," she informed him. "Veggies help you grow up!"

"I'm already a grown-up," Gibbs answered solemnly.

"Me too," Madeleine agreed, deadpan, and flicked an asparagus stalk off her plate and onto the floor.

She giggled proudly.

"For God's sakes," snapped Jenny, standing up. Her hand when back to her hip matter-of-factly and she pointed at Madeleine. "You will eat those vegetables, Madeleine," she said calmly. "Daddy will eat his, too," she added, glaring at Gibbs seriously.

Madeleine quailed under the authoritative look and picked up a piece of the vegetable.

"Mommy says," she said to Gibbs again. She put the asparagus in her mouth and shrugged, obviously unfazed by the taste.

"She's not the boss of me," Gibbs said, eating another forkful of chicken. Jenny all but stomped her foot and then, perhaps on reflex, reached out and slapped him in the back of the head with an open palm, sending his head forward slightly. He paused, his fork halfway to his mouth again, and glared at her.

Madeleine giggled, her fingers near her mouth.

"You got a spanking," she murmured in wonder, her eyes wide. She seemed to think twice of the giggling and gave him a sympathetic look, eating another piece of asparagus just for good measure, perhaps to make sure she wasn't next.

Gibbs looked at Jenny in disbelief.

"I have to eat that?" he asked skeptically, on the verge of rolling his eyes at this nonsense.

"You dug yourself a hole and handed her the shovel to bury you," Jenny hissed. "Eat it, Gibbs," she ordered, using his surname again.

He complied, but he did it unhappily, and he tried to swallow without really tasting. Jenny smiled and then went back to the stove, fixing her own plate finally. Gibbs washed down the acrid taste of the asparagus with his drink and shot a mock look of anger at Madeleine.

"I said to you," she said sassily, snapping her fingers.

"That's how she says 'I told you so'," Jenny translated fondly, sitting down next to Gibbs.

She tore a piece of bread in half and munched on it, supervising Madeleine for a moment as the three-year-old toyed with the lid of her sippy cup. Satisfied that Madeleine was occupied rather well with her food and drink, Jenny turned towards Jethro slightly.

She swallowed her food and cleared her throat.

"I got my promotion," she said in a low voice.

He sat up a little, chewing more slowly. Her eyes met his and, after he took a moment to process the words, he nodded curtly, reaching out to tap her hand with his fingers.

"You're a hell of an agent, Jen," he complimented. "You deserve it."

She smiled shakily and rested her chin in her palm, glancing down at his hand on hers skeptically.

"I admire your ability to sound so sincere," she said dryly.

"I am sincere," he retorted. "You deserve it. You're good."

She nodded.

"Yes," she agreed practically. "You don't want me to take it, though, and I'm well aware of that," she went on. She shifted her shoulders as if she were bracing herself. Gibbs looked over at Madeleine, who was ignoring them entirely, completely absorbed in eating her food.

He raised his brow at Jenny expectantly.

"That's what we need to talk about," she murmured.

"With her in the room?" Gibbs asked gruffly, nodding at Madeleine. Jenny nodded in return, shrugging.

"She won't grasp much of it," Jenny said. "She's better at Hebrew, anyway," she admitted reluctantly.

"I've noticed," Gibbs said grimly. Madeleine had a stunning habit of babbling happily away in Hebrew, but speaking careful, concentrated English—it bothered him; he knew her nanny spoke in only Hebrew, and he knew she spoke Hebrew at school, but Jenny spoke English and because of that, Gibbs thought Madeleine should be better at English.

He nodded curtly at Jenny and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I haven't taken the promotion yet," she said calmly. "I put in for a transfer back to the states," she revealed, taking a deep breath and raising her eyes to his.

Gibbs blinked, taken aback. He swallowed and let his hand fall off of hers, staring at her. He sensed that there was some complicated factor in this, but the very thought that she'd taken such a permanent step was encouraging, and he smiled a little. She looked apologetic.

"NCIS is inundated with agents at the moment," she said, picking at her food. She put some in her mouth and chewed slowly. "There aren't many agents with enough training or experience to take positions overseas, and there aren't many open positions on the home front," she paused.

"What are your options?" Gibbs asked neutrally.

"I can take a special forces team in Los Angeles," she answered, swallowing. "I'd be working with Decker again, and a few other agents who have experience under cover. I also have the option of taking Special Agent positions in New York, Corpus Christi, or New Orleans."

Gibbs leaned back, nodding slowly. He took a drink, and then rested his fingers on the rim of his glass, beginning to grasp some of the problem.

"If you take Los Angeles, you're there for good," he said matter-of-factly.

"Basically," she agreed. "Once you sync a team like that," she trailed off; Gibbs knew how it worked. Special Forces teams were tight knit and not easily rearranged; if Jenny went to Los Angeles, it could mean they had a cross-country relationship indefinitely—possible until Madeleine was an adult.

"The other positions," he said, thinking about it.

"They're demotions," she said dryly. "Of course, if I took one, I would be choosing it, so it wouldn't be a punishment but—" she paused. "In field offices like that, you work domestic violence or custody battles," she made a face.

"You'd be bored out of your mind," Gibbs realized knowingly.

She nodded reluctantly.

He grunted and leaned forward, looking up at Madeleine. He thought about Jenny and Emmy in Los Angeles, a much shorter distance than Israel but too far away all the same. The sudden thought struck him that Shannon and Kelly had once been without him in California, too—and as irrational and completely different as the situations were, he turned pale and looked at Jenny sharply.

"Don't take LA," he said firmly.

She looked surprised.

"I thought you'd be in favor of LA," she murmured honestly. "It's still a distance, but it's stable, you know Decker…" she trailed off, noticing his colour. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"New York is closer than LA," he tried to brush off her question. "If you take a demotion, there's a chance you could get something in Norfolk or DC in a few years."

She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, pursing her lips. She sighed, deciding to ignore his vehement aversion to LA, and bit the inside of her lip. She looked at him with guarded eyes and after a moment, he smirked, looking back at her.

"You don't want a demotion," he noted.

"Would you want to go back to working under someone?" she retorted.

"You're always workin' for someone, Jen," he reminded her. She snorted and shook her head; he knew damn well what she meant. She was _better_ when she was in control; she was less headstrong and more practical.

"I have more juice, please," Madeleine piped up, waving her cup at them expectantly. Gibbs got up and went to the fridge, taking out the plastic bottle of apple juice and walking over to fulfill her polite little request.

As he poured the juice into the sippy cup and smiled affectionately at his daughter, he spoke neutrally to Jenny again:

"I'll fire McGee and tell Morrow I want you," he said, half-kidding.

She laughed good-naturedly, tilting her head back.

"You know, I did consider that," she said, snapping her fingers. "However, considering how inconvenient our last partnership turned out to be for Tom, I thought it would be crass to request I work with you."

Gibbs smirked. The very thought of trying to work with Jenny _and_ DiNozzo was daunting—the dynamic they would have would probably infinitely beneficial to crime solving but irksome and destructive to his nerves.

Jenny fell silent ad Gibbs popped the cap back on Madeleine's cup.

"Thank you and I like you," Madeleine said happily, delicately taking the cup back and sucking down gulps of juice. Gibbs pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and grinned, ruffling her hair.

"I like you more," he added.

She giggled and went back to munchkin her chicken, shaking her head.

"I like juice," she announced seriously.

Jenny giggled.

"Look at that, she's more skittish of emotions than you are," she said lightly, waiting for Gibbs to sit back down next to her. He did, but he didn't go back to eating. He leaned back and looked at her mildly, considering their position. After a moment of silence, he held his hand out a little uncertainly.

"You want my input?" he asked.

She bit her lip and inclined her head slightly.

"Yes," she admitted slowly. "I have," she paused. "There's another option," she began, keeping her voice steady.

"I'm listenin'," he said.

She pushed her hair back again and took another deep breath.

"If I take Cairo and things go well, I could be back in the US by two-thousand-and-six, maybe two-thousand-and-five," she said carefully. "There's a certain…path my career is on that gives me the security to say that," Jenny paused and bit her lip again. "You know there's a point where a career in a federal agency becomes stagnant," she said.

He nodded.

"If I take a demotion, that's what will happen—even if I take LA," she gestured with her hand vaguely. "Like you said. If I take Cairo, I've still got mobility—and a higher position gives me more leverage."

Gibbs nodded again, and Jenny lowered her hand, tapping her fingers on the table. She looked at Madeleine and pursed her lips, turning back to Gibbs.

"If I take Cairo," she said, testing the waters. "I—Jethro, I know how you feel about Madeleine living here, and Israel is—it's the, arguably, I guess, the safest nation in the Middle East. If I take Cairo, I am not," she paused again. "I am not necessarily suggesting I would take her with me."

Gibbs stared at her blankly. He had to repeat her words in his head to make sure he'd heard her correctly and then, promptly, he swiftly turned his head to Madeleine, eyeing her intently to see if she'd heard Jenny mention her name.

Madeleine paused, her fingers in her mouth, and looked at him curiously, blinking as if to ask just why he was staring at her so suddenly.

Gibbs put his elbow on the table and rubbed his chin. He was still processing what she was implying, so he bought himself time by clarifying:

"You'd leave her with Mossad?" he asked tensely, even though he was sure she was suggesting something else entirely.

He was right; she looked appalled at the very suggestion.

"I'm talking about giving you custody, Jethro," she said softly. "Full custody."

He breathed out heavily, still looking at her in that unreadable, blank way. She bit her lip, her muscles taut with anxiety. She had been thinking about it for weeks, asking herself if she could do it, desperately trying to figure out what was best—

"That's a big change, Jen," he said gently.

She nodded.

"It's fair," she said earnestly. "If I do end up being back stateside in two or three years, we'll have split time with her fairly equally," she explained. She pressed her fingers to her mouth and trailed off, leaning back. She looked over at her daughter.

Madeleine gave Jenny the same look she had given Gibbs, and that's when Jenny got the distinct impression that the three-year-old was, in whatever way she was able to understand, eavesdropping on them. She raised an eyebrow.

"Are you finished eating, _ahuva_?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Do you want to go play with toys before your bath?"

"No, stay," Madeleine answered primly, picking up her juice. She raised her eyebrows into her pulled back hair and drank silently in an '_oh don't mind me'_ sort of way. Jenny raised her brows back; even more convinced she might be trying to grasp her parents' conversation. Madeleine hated being strapped in her booster any longer than necessary.

Jenny smirked and turned back to Jethro, pushing her hair back again.

"It is just an option," she said. "We don't have to decide right now."

"Could you do that, Jenny?" Gibbs asked skeptically. "Let her go?"

"Could _you_ do it?" Jenny responded equally, looking at him curtly.

He gave her a look.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked narrowly.

She grit her teeth as if holding back a reluctant criticism, but then let it go anyway:

"It means that we've never discussed this as a legitimate option—I think I mentioned it once, and it seemed absurd to you. You'd never considered it because—Jethro, you have a traditional view of family, and I think you're angry about our situation, but _you_ don't want to be a single father, you want _me_ to take care of her, or you want me with you."

She saw the defensive annoyance fire up in his eyes before he voiced it, and winced. She thought it best to be honest about her qualms, though—she'd taken a lot of blame and responsibility for the life they'd made for themselves and their daughter, and she felt like she was justified in getting her issues out there.

"I—" he started. "Jen, you—" he broke off again and she was suddenly scared—it was the first time she'd really experienced Jethro to be utterly _unable_ to form sentences. He lunged forward in his chair suddenly, livid. "You don't get to blame me for this, Jenny," he snarled.

Jenny leaned back, flinching.

"I'm not blaming you," she said in a low voice.

He kept his volume under control, too, so as not to panic the child.

"I wanted what's best for my baby," he said icily. "I wanted her in a stable home in a safe country—_that's_ what I wanted. You never _considered_ it. Are you telling me that if I'd tried to take custody of her, you would have just _let_ me have her, no contest?"

"I'm telling you I had the impression that wasn't an option," she snapped.

"Hell, Jen, so did I!" he fired back. "I'd never dream of taking Madeleine away from her mother—if someone had taken Kelly from Shannon it would have devastated her—_Jen_," he broke off, his voice fading to unbearable hoarseness. "Do you understand how devastating it is to lose your _child_?"

"I can imagine," she said shakily, backing off a little.

"But you don't know," he said forcefully. "You don't _know_, Jenny," he insisted, his expression raw and open. "I _love_ her, Jen, I'd take her back with me in a _heartbeat_," he swore. "Don't think I don't want her—it isn't that! I don't think you grasp how much it will hurt to have her out of your life!"

She stared at him, unprepared for the outburst of emotion and at a total loss for how to handle his expression.

"You've had to live without her," she said softly, folding her arms and hugging herself slightly. "I've been trying so hard to work something out that's fair," she added desperately.

She wasn't trying to hurt Jethro. His sudden openness about Shannon and Kelly was scaring her. She took a deep breath and got up, reaching out for him. She put her hand on his shoulder, rubbing again, trying to convey that she really did not want to start a fight.

"We don't have to decide right this minute," she said hoarsely. "I just wanted to get it out there."

He turned away from her and put his head in his hands for a moment. Then he turned back and stood up slowly, slipping his arm around her shoulders. He nodded briefly and pressed his lips gently to her brow, reassuring her.

He slipped past her and went to get Madeleine out of her seat. Lifting her up onto his hip easily.

She flung out her cup of juice to offer him some politely, and promptly hit him in the nose with it on accident. She gasped and apologized quickly, her green eyes widening with sorrow that she might have injured him. He just wrinkled his nose and touched it to hers.

"I'm okay, Emmy," he assured her calmly. He tilted his head at her. "What do you think about living with Daddy?" he asked mildly.

Jenny lifted a brow hesitantly. Madeleine looked at up and shrugged, smiling in her indulgent, sweet way.

"You stay here this time?" she asked brightly, nibbling on the edge of her cup. He smiled and looked up at Jenny. Jenny shrugged. Madeleine wasn't old enough to understand or choose; it was up to them to make the hard decisions—and neither of them should have expected it to get easier since the day she was born.

* * *

><p>"Aba," Madeleine piped up sleepily, burrowing down by his side in her toddler bed. He shifted to give her more room; his legs crammed up against the railing that served to prevent her from falling out, and paused in reading her a bedtime story, raising his eyebrows.<p>

"When your birthday is?" she asked.

"August," he answered in a low voice, trying to keep her in a sleep mood.

"Me too," she said, a lazy smile breaking across her face. She rolled over and linked her arm through his, burying her face half in his side. "What number?" she asked in a mumble, the words muffled.

"Twenty-fifth," he answered slowly.

She flopped onto her back and yawned at him.

"You forget Emmy when you go to America?" she asked, pointing to herself.

He shook his head.

"Never," he said sincerely, reaching over to stroke her hair back. "I think about you _every_ day. You and your mom."

She smiled a little bashfully. She yawned again.

"I forget you," she said quietly. "I'm sorry I forget," she mumbled.

"It's okay, Emmy," he said, smiling at her. "You're little. It's hard to remember," he soothed.

"No, _big_ girl," she murmured, slurring her words.

He laughed quietly.

"Madeleine," he said, "I don't want you to get big too fast. You're my little girl."

She sniffled and rolled around a little. She had fallen asleep, and he smirked again, carefully getting off her bed and laying the book aside. He covered her up, kissed her again, turned off the lamp and left the room, leaving her door cracked open as Jenny said was part of the bed time routine.

He wandered through the parlor area and found her in the kitchen doing dishes. She looked over her shoulder.

"Is she asleep?" she asked.

He nodded, stretching out after being coiled up on the toddler bed while he read to her. Jenny smiled and turned back to the dishes, blowing loose strands of hair out of her face. Gibbs leaned on a chair, watching her, and then walked towards her.

He placed his hand on the back of her thigh and then slid it upwards soothingly, standing close to her and burying his nose in her hair. She tilted her head towards him and smiled, enjoying his running his hand over her. He rested his chin on her shoulder and smirked, eyeing the dishes devilishly.

"The way you wash those dishes is sexy," he drawled.

She snickered and dropped what she was doing, turning the faucet off. She turned around and lifted her brows and her hands, dripping and soapy.

"Oh, you think?" she asked, wiggling her fingers at him. She reached out and touched his face wickedly, and then wound her hands into his shirt to dry and clean them. He grinned and pressed a kiss to her lips, feeling a lot better, suddenly, about a lot of things. He nodded, mumbling his agreement.

"'Cause I'm so traditional," he reminded her, teasing.

"Traditional, huh?" she murmured, tilting her head back. She bit her lip as he slipped his hand up her back and held her closer, and she smiled, crinkling her nose fetchingly. "You better get me to bed, then, Jethro, the kitchen's no place for a lady to get laid," she enticed.

He grinned, nipped her bottom lip, and turned, taking her hand, and yanking her towards her bedroom.

* * *

><p>Gibbs reached up and slipped his hands into Jenny's hair, slowly pushing it behind her ears and keeping his palms gently on her cheeks to keep the red locks out of her face. Her skin was flushed and her eyes were half-closed; her hair was damp and she smelled good. He watched her lick her lips and kiss him again, turning his head a little to breathe her in again.<p>

She shifted on his hips, her thighs moving against his and he ran one of his hands down through her sweat-peppered hair and over her spine. It was late, and they should have gone to bed hours ago, but they couldn't seem to stop _touching_.

Jenny tilted her head and smiled at him softly, rubbing his shoulders. She snuggled down closer to him and slid her hands down his sides, her nails gently scratching along his ribs. She wriggled a little so she could place her hands between them on his thighs, and he grinned, tilting his head back a little.

She kissed his neck and he let his hand fall lower, resting just at her lower back, his fingers splayed possessively over her smooth, white skin. He watched her throat move as she swallowed, her shoulders twitch as she took a deep breath, and came to the instant, obvious conclusion that he didn't want to sleep with another woman for the rest of his life.

He'd been thinking it since things had mended between them over the first year of Madeleine's life, but it suddenly was so crystal clear that he couldn't really keep his mouth shut about it.

"Jen," he said gruffly.

She blinked up at him through her lashes lazily and lifted one brow a little to indicate she was listening.

"You want to get married?"

She snorted and rolled her eyes, pressing her lips to his languidly.

"No," she murmured with a laugh. He felt her smiling as she kissed him and he glared at her, kissing back roughly and then, when she broke away gasping for air, narrowing his eyes. He realized she thought he was kidding.

"Let's get married, Jen," he said.

She smiled wryly.

"That'll be the day, Gibbs," she said, sassy, bending to kiss him again. She laughed, low in the back of her throat, and slipped her hand to his inner thigh.

She brushed her tongue against his lips, her eyes drifting closed, and then the gravity of his words, his request, sank in, and she slowed, eventually freezing, lifting her nose just a little, looking at him intently, with her lips parted, and a strange, taken aback, vulnerable-yet-incredulous look in her eyes.

"You're _serious_," she murmured, half-question, half-statement.

He gave her an annoyed look. She sat up a little, biting her lower lip attractively. She let out a breath and rolled off of him, laying on her back with a star-struck look on her face. She swallowed, and he noticed the flush had faded to a pale whiteness—she was genuinely scared, it seemed, by the suggestion. He couldn't help but laugh a little at her expression. He shifted and looked at her, an eyebrow raised.

"Where's your vocabulary, Jenny?" he asked a little smugly.

She closed her mouth, lifting her hand to her forehead and rubbing.

"You," she said clumsily, "You caught me a little off guard, Jethro."

He nodded, finding her explanation reasonable. She sat up and reached for his discarded shirt, slipping it on. She pushed her hair back and turned to him. She gave him an exasperated glare and wet her lips.

"Where did that come from?" she asked.

Gibbs shrugged.

"You didn't see that comin'?" he asked flippantly. "You asked me not to see other women before Emmy was born," he reminded her. "Hell, Jenny, you think I wouldn't ask?"

"I didn't think about it at all," she said honestly, still trying to catch her bearings. "I thought you'd offer when I told you I was pregnant," she admitted. "I wasn't going to marry you then."

"Now?" he prompted.

"Now," she muttered. "Why _now_?" she asked, her words catching in her throat. "We have so many other problems, Jethro," she insisted. "You can't just—spring a proposal on me!" her voice got a little higher; she sounded panicked.

He rose up on his elbow and met her eyes, shrugging again.

"I just did," he said gruffly. He smirked at her. "I don't want anyone else, Jen," he said bluntly. "I want you, you and Madeleine."

"Marriage isn't a flippant decision."

"I know."

"It's permanent," she said sharply.

"I know, Jen," he repeated. "That's the point."

"Jethro," she said sharply. "You've been married twice," she reminded him.

He tensed slightly at the mention, gritting his back teeth.

"Three," he said, lowering his voice.

"I wasn't counting her," Jenny said, her voice softening again. "I'm talking about the women you married and _discarded_," she went on. He narrowed his eyes, but didn't say anything for a moment—it would seem that way to Jenny, and he wasn't about to explain himself. It was too much to talk about, and too difficult to get through.

"It wasn't like that," he said curtly. "You're different."

She laughed a little dejectedly.

"Am I?" she asked, slightly bitter. "At the risk of sounding incredibly irritating even to myself, Jethro, you've never even told me you love me."

He looked at her coolly.

"The Czech Republic," he said, voice brittle.

She gave him a faltering smile.

"_That_ doesn't count," she muttered, her words slamming together. She sounded like she was about to start crying.

"What?" he demanded, his eyes growing dark.

"Jethro," she said hoarsely. "I was in pain, I was bleeding out in a back alley and I told you to keep me awake, to tell me things that weren't true so I'd get mad and argue—and you said," she paused, her throat constricting. "It, you said it then. I barely remember it, but it hurt," she whispered.

"Jesus, Jen, I didn't know what the hell you were moaning about in that alley!" he fired back defensively. "I just gave a damn about stopping the bleeding," he said aggressively. She bit her lip and flicked her eyes downward. "The Czech Republic counted, Jenny, I _meant_ it," he said seriously, his voice low. "I meant it."

She lifted her head and looked at him, her green eyes raw.

"I can't marry you, Jethro," she said huskily. "That doesn't mean I want to be with anyone else."

"What does it mean, then?" he asked harshly.

She pulled is shirt close around her and lowered her eyelashes.

"I don't think you're over Shannon," she said in a whisper. She felt sick admitting it. She swallowed hard and shifted, curling up on her side and facing him, her hands on the pillow between them. "I trust you, Jethro," she swore. "I believe you're giving me what you can, but sometimes, you lay awake, and you wish you were sleeping next to her—and I understand it; you've never tried to get over her death, not before Madeleine. It takes time," she said, wiping her eyes briefly. "But I can't marry you while you're struggling with Shannon. I can't come in second to a ghost," she said honestly. "It hurts too much. We don't even know if we can live together," she whispered. She bit her lip and swallowed again, taking a deep breath. "I'm scared, Jethro."

He settled down next to her, his mouth and throat dry. He felt like he'd been punched in the gut, had his breath knocked out, and his heart clawed at, but a majority of the turmoil he was dealing with resulted from the knowledge that he was hurting—even unconsciously—Jenny.

"You want to take Cairo," he mumbled matter-of-factly, looking her in the eye. She covered her mouth and nodded, almost apologetic, her eyes spilling over again. He frowned, but it wasn't argumentative or angry; he dreaded losing her to the danger.

He smirked stiffly.

"You're running away from me, Jen," he noted, realizing it was the truth.

She reached out and grabbed his hand tightly.

He yanked the covers up and moved closer, throwing his leg over hers and tangling himself up with her. She nodded at him and licked her lips, admitting her cowardice. He slid his hand into the shirt she was wearing and rested his palm on her spine again, tracing the outline soothingly.

He felt her breathing, calming down, on his neck for a few minutes and then he cleared his throat.

"We'll talk about custody in a few days," he said neutrally.

She laced her fingers into his and squeezed.

"I still want to marry you, Jen," he muttered a little selfishly—it was almost endearing. She smiled, and brought his knuckles to her mouth, brushing them with her lips, and like that she fell asleep, with more confidence in him than she'd had in a long time—and with her steady breathing under his hand, he lay awake hours after she slept, mulling over what she'd said.

* * *

><p>Gibbs had gotten used to waking up with company over the past few days. He was surprised when he rolled over groggily to grab for Jenny and came up with empty hands. He blinked and sat up, frowning. There was no scent of breakfast in the air, and no sound of Madeleine playing, so it was either <em>very<em> early—or Jenny had gone out.

Gibbs cleared his throat and got up, listening carefully. He glanced at a clock and noted it was about ten in the morning. He blinked, still adjusting to being awake, and dragged his feet lazily into the parlor—where he stopped abruptly.

Tali David looked up at him from an armchair, an apple in her hand and a book in her lap, and smiled brightly, wide awake and unfazed by his disheveled, half-dressed presence. He narrowed his eyes and glanced around—Madeleine was absorbed in a movie on the television—before he settled his glare back on her.

"Good morning," she greeted in a singsong voice. "My, you look quite handsome," she added with a snicker, her eyes dancing.

Gibbs frowned and sheepishly retreated to the bedroom, throwing on a shirt for modesty's sake and taking a moment to thank God that he'd gone to bed in pants last night. He didn't want to be walking around undressed in front of a teenager, no matter how mature Ziva and Jenny insisted she was.

He raked his hand through his hair, trying to fix it from sticking up, and trudged back into the living room.

"Where's Jen?" he asked gruffly, walking to the couch and sitting down. He reached forward and picked up Madeleine easily, lifting her into his lip. She twisted and grinned at him, waving a good-morning wave.

"Work," the pre-schooler spoke up. "Tali sits on me," she added seriously, turning back to her television.

"Hmm," Gibbs murmured, raising an eyebrow. He kissed the top of her head. "I don't know if I want Tali to _sit_ on you," he teased.

Madeleine shrugged and waved her hand flippantly.

"Did not ask you," she informed him smartly.

Tali giggled and closed her book, turning her attention to Gibbs and munching on her apple whole-heartedly. Gibbs smiled at Madeleine's head and leaned back, letting her sit on his lap, and looking at Tali again.

"Jen?" he asked, seeking a more substantial answer.

"She had to make a trip to the complex," Tali answered lightly. "Ari is at risk of coming into contact with some NCIS teams in his next operation, and Jenny is reading him in on operation procedure and what he might have to avoid," she explained.

Gibbs' expression soured and he made a face.

"Where's Haswari's next operation?" he asked sarcastically.

Tali raised her eyebrows, her apple hiding her mouth. She smirked.

"I may be a very young girl, but I am not a gossip, Agent Gibbs," she said primly. "I certainly cannot divulge Mossad secrets to you—particularly when I myself do not know."

Tali bit off another piece of the apple and chewed, drumming her fingers against her book.

"Jenny will be back early this afternoon," she offered. Tali smiled slyly. "And I hope you will take her to a fancy dinner, Agent Gibbs, because I want the little one to myself tonight and you have no excuse to stay in."

Gibbs raised his eyebrow at her and smirked, shaking his head.

"You can call me Jethro, Tali," he said.

"I am honored," she teased. "Then I hope you, Jethro, will let me watch little Madeleine while you enjoy a grown-up date."

He snorted.

"We aren't the date type," he said gruffly.

"That shall simply have to change," Tali sighed matter-of-factly, "For I have already booked the two of you a reservation," she shot him a wicked look. "I dropped my father's name, so you had better take advantage."

Gibbs glared at her. She flashed her teeth in a beautiful winning smile.

"Jethro," she laughed. "Do you understand that I must live through Jenny? No boy will touch the daughter of Mossad's most fearsome, and I have never been in love!" she exclaimed.

Madeleine flopped back against Gibbs' chest and pointed at the television, twisting to look at him.

"Daddy, bad guy," she announced.

"Where?" he asked immediately, wrapping his arms round her lightly and protectively. She pointed at the television again and Gibbs looked up, his brow furrowing suddenly. The film was dubbed in Hebrew, and he hadn't noticed what she was watching when he first walked in, but now he was caught off guard.

He was looking at Darth Vader, it seemed.

Madeleine put her hand to her mouth and breathed in and out heavily in a perfect imitation.

"It's okay," she said after a moment, patting his knee comfortingly. "He's gone," she whispered, as the scene changed, and suddenly the Star Wars film was back on a planet swirling with white, immaculate snow.

"She's watching Star Wars?" Gibbs asked skeptically, directing his attention to Tali.

Tali narrowed her eyes at him.

"You got a problem with Star Wars?" she asked.

He grinned, surprised, and shook his head.

"Didn't peg you for a Sci-Fi nerd," he drawled.

"I am full of surprises," Tali said brightly. "The final movie is going to come out in two years," she informed him. "I shall get to see it in America," she reminded him. "Perhaps I will take her with me."

Gibbs smirked again, amused.

"What school did you decide on?" he asked.

"Duke University," she answered smoothly. "I am studying Art History and Biology," she offered. "Pre-medical."

Gibbs nodded, impressed. Tali had always been very diverse with her interests. He couldn't imagine her needing a fancy, high-class American education. She could probably school every southern spoiled brat at that university.

"I appreciate that you would let me stay with you if I had chosen Georgetown," she said gratefully. "May I still spend Holidays with you, though I am Jewish?" she asked with another smile.

"Yeah, Tali," he said, shrugging. "You got to go somewhere."

She smiled at him, down to the core of her apply, and Madeleine slipped of Gibbs' lap, scooting closer to the television and saying something to it in Hebrew. Gibbs cocked his head and watched her. Tali giggled.

"She says Chewbacca is cute," Tali translated.

Tali spoke to Madeleine in Hebrew and Madeleine turned around, grinning in a sparkly way.

"Chewey is a big puppy," she said. She threw her head back and looked at Gibbs upside-down. "Aba, I want a puppy," she informed him.

"What does Mom say about that?" he asked.

"Ima say 'No, silly, house is too small' and she say no," Madeleine said, promptly absorbing herself back in the television.

His first thought was that he had a house big enough to keep a dog.

Many thoughts such as that kept occurring to him—since Jenny had mentioned rearranging their custody agreement. He still had about five days to make a decision, one that she said was up to him and she was okay with either way. Still, he felt like he was in the wrong either way; he did not want Madeleine going with Jenny to Cairo, but he still felt it would be selfish—if not downright cruel—to separate them, not only for Jenny's sake, but for Madeleine's.

Disrupting her life in such a drastic way when she already lived in an odd, non-traditional situation, seemed detrimental.

"You know," Tali spoke up quietly. "I would be able to come to the US early, if I got my visa in order now," she said. "I could help her adjust, be someone familiar," Tali shrugged encouragingly. "If you choose to take her home with you."

Madeleine stood up and skipped over, grabbing onto Gibbs' knee.

"I see where you live, Daddy?" she asked curiously tilting her head.

He smiled gently.

"Maybe, Emmy," he said. "Do you want to?"

"Yes," she said eagerly. She smiled and jumped up and down, still holding onto his knee tightly.

Tali smiled at her and then looked at Gibbs.

"She will have so much fun at the festivals on Saturday," she said. "I loved them very much myself as a child."

Gibbs nodded, remembering suddenly the fairs they were taking Madeleine to on Saturday.

"What's it all about again?"

"Oh, it is part of many charities fundraising during the Passover season," Tali explained. "There are lots of games and pageants. It is all very good fun. "I myself am helping raise money for schools in the Palestinian territories," she added. "Some are not too pleased about it, but peace begins with education, does it not?"

Gibbs gave her an encouraging look and nodded silently. Madeleine, still hugging his leg, was back to watching the movie. Tali stood and disposed of her apple, laying her book on the table in front of her. She came back into the living room and leaned over the back of the chair she'd been in, her crystal blue eyes alighting on Gibbs.

"I once asked you to tell my your story," she said good-naturedly. "The story of your love affair with Jenny? You declined," she reminded him. "She will not speak of it, either, though I think it is obvious you have resumed it."

Gibbs raised his eyebrow at her threateningly, daring her to go on.

She bit her lip and smirked, tilting her head back with a laugh.

"Jethro, please humor me, please tell me the story!" she pleaded. "About some things, I am a normal teenager, and you know I do want to know the clandestine story before I am dead!" she exclaimed dramatically.

Gibbs rolled his eyes indulgently. He ruffled Madeleine's hair and leaned back again, giving Tali a guarded look.

"Watch _Casablanca_," he advised.

"It's like Casablanca?" Tali asked, her brows going up in delight.

Gibbs shrugged, thinking about Paris.

"Ah, it's somethin' like that."

* * *

><p>"Where does Gibbs go when he…goes?"<p>

Kate and DiNozzo looked up at their new team member simultaneous. Kate looked exasperated; DiNozzo looked smug, and McGee looked back at them both with sincere interest.

"You should ask him when he gets back," DiNozzo said seriously, his features schooled in earnest.

Kate rolled her eyes and chucked a wadded up piece of paper at him.

"Don't ask, McGee, it won't end well," she said darkly.

"So," McGee spoke up slowly, "You don't know?"

"We don't know," agreed Kate.

"Not for lack of trying to find out," DiNozzo said bitterly, frowning. "He's a mystery, our taciturn leader."

"Uh," McGee began, faltering. "You guys know Abby knows, right?" he asked uncertainly.

DiNozzo swiveled around to stare at the probie, outraged and interested at the same time.

"How do you know she knows, McNewbie?" he demanded.

"She told me."

Tony looked injured. He looked at Kate, thrusting his thumb at McGee.

"What do you think of this?" he demanded.

Kate shrugged, flipping through some paperwork.

"Gibbs trusts Abby," she said matter-of-factly. "He's known her the longest."

Tony brooded, grumbling under his breath.

"You think if I slept with Abby she'd tell me the secret?" he mused.

"She didn't tell me the whole thing, just that she knew," McGee said defensively.

"Well, I bet you're not as good in bed as I am, Pruh-hobie," Tony fired back smugly.

McGee shrugged uncaringly.

"She did sleep with me and not you, DiNozzo," he fired back promptly.

Kate snickered. She closed the file she was looking at.

"It's a woman."

"What's a woman?"

"The reason behind Gibbs' erratic vacations," Kate clarified. "It's a woman. It must be."

"I think Gibbs wrote off women when his second wife hit him with a golf club," DiNozzo snorted, narrowing his eyes. Kate shrugged and leaned back in her chair looking thoughtful.

"He had an argument with someone while we were under cover in the recruitment office," she said mildly. "It sounded like a woman, a worried one."

DiNozzo looked between McGee and DiNozzo.

"How can you both be so blasé about this?" he demanded, throwing his hands up, annoyance written all over his face.

Kate shrugged.

"It's not our business, Tony," she said.

He folded his arms and scowled.

Didn't they understand that _everything_ was Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, Jr.'s business?

* * *

><p>Jenny sighed in nervous exasperation as Madeleine darted through her legs towards a cotton candy vendor on the sidewalk.<p>

"Madeleine Jane, hold your father's hand at all times or I will carry you through these streets," she threatened.

Madeleine frowned and dragged her feet back slowly, slapping her palm into Jethro's and immediately tugging him towards the fluffy, colourful treats. Gibbs blandly allowed himself to be pulled along, while Jenny narrowed her eyes and surveyed the area.

"Pink, please," Madeleine said, clutching Gibbs' hand tightly.

"You don't even know if you like it," Jenny reminded the child.

"Tali says _yum_," Madeleine retorted, stomping her foot. "Aba," she said, looking up at Gibbs immediately. "Treat, please."

Gibbs looked at Jenny for instructions. She sighed and folded her arms.

"You have not had a proper lunch," Jenny muttered. "And just _why_ do you think Daddy will say yes if I say no?"

"I will kiss him," Madeleine said demurely, fluttering her lashes.

Gibbs grinned and crouched down, coaxing her out of the way of other people.

"How about we wait for Tali to finish up her charity work," he began, bargaining, "and get some healthy lunch before we go for the sweets?"

She glared at him as if he had betrayed her in the cruelest of ways. She stuck her lip out and Gibbs frowned weakly, struck by the pitiful cuteness. Sensing the risk posed by the powerful puppy-dog face, Jenny casually stepped in front of Gibbs and picked her pouting daughter up with a smug smile.

"I'll remove temptation from your midst," she said to Gibbs, nudging him a little with her knee.

He stood up, thankful for it, and turned towards her, looking around. Jenny smiled, blinking in the sun, shifting her weight so it was more comfortable to hold Madeleine on her hip.

"Where's Tali's thing?" Gibbs asked.

"That tall hotel up the street," Jenny said, indicating with her head. Her ponytail swayed and brushed the back of her neck, dancing slightly as she stopped moving her head. Madeleine put her chin on Jenny's shoulder and continued to pout at Gibbs hopefully.

He just shrugged his shoulders apologetically and made a sad face in return, pointing at Jenny's back as if it were her fault. Madeleine grinned, giggled quietly, and put her hand to her forehead, shaking her head in a cute imitation of Jenny's exasperation.

"What do you want for lunch, baby?" Jenny asked.

"Latkes," Madeleine answered promptly, wriggling. "Let me down," she said sweetly.

Jenny sighed again, her brow crinkling.

"You have _got_ to hold someone's hand, ahuva," she warned. "Mommy doesn't want to lose you."

"I do promise," Madeleine insisted, fluttering her eyelashes persuasively.

Jenny smiled and let Madeleine slid down off her hip, steadying her on the concrete. Madeleine twirled around, prancing in her brand new black Mary Janes, and then laced her fingers into Jenny's obediently, still sashaying her hips back in forth excitedly, enjoying the new dress her father had bought her a few days ago.

Jenny grabbed Gibbs' elbow and steered him towards the hotel Tali was working in, weaving through some tight areas before

"Where're we headed?" he asked.

Jenny rummaged in the pocket of her jeans, her hand wriggling uncomfortably.

"Can you grab my cell?" she asked, trying to keep a hold of Madeleine at the same time. Gibbs slipped his hand into her back pocket and tucked the bulky cell phone out, pressing it into her waiting palm.

"Damn, Jen, your jeans are so tight," he muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Do continue acting like it annoys you," she said, rolling her own eyes. She looked up and pointed across the street. "There is less of a crowd over there," she said. "We'll cross, wait outside the hotel for Tali, and get lunch."

Gibbs nodded. Jenny transferred Madeleine's hand to his and, after checking the traffic; they crossed the street and stood on the opposite side, facing the formidable, high-rise hotel where Tali's charity event was being held.

Madeleine bounced around, antsy, trying to yank her hand out of Gibbs' grasp.

"I will stay by you," she said, looking up at him. "Let me go," she pleaded, hopping up and down.

She was so excited and distracted by all the people and festivities that she couldn't stand still. Gibbs smiled, admiring her energy and childishness, but he didn't budge on the handholding; it didn't matter if he was in DC or Tel Aviv, he was under no circumstances allowing his three-year-old to run around crowded streets without an adult's hand firmly attached to hers.

"Em, you can run around later at the park," he soothed. "Right now there's too many people."

"I stay by you!" she insisted.

"I believe you," Gibbs replied. "I don't believe everyone else," he told her. "What if someone snatches you away?"

She frowned thoughtfully and sighed, gripping his hand and looking over at Jenny.

"Ima, you said lunch!" she said, stomping her foot.

Jenny frowned, looking at her cell phone.

"I'm not getting a signal," she said.

Gibbs raised a brow.

"We're in the middle of a city," he said.

She grunted, nodding, and rubbed her forehead. She looked stressed, and checked her watch. Squinting in the sun again, she pointed towards a row of parked cars closer to the hotel.

"I'm going to go a little closer, see if Tali's on her way out," she said. She frowned, looking at Madeleine. "You feel like something's off, Jethro?" she asked.

"No," he answered distractedly, glaring at Madeleine as she hopped onto his foot, crushing his toes, hopped off, and repeated the annoying dance, giggling madly. He didn't look up, but listened to her feet crunch as she walked away.

"Mama," Madeleine yelled, stopping her stomping on his feet. "I want to come."

"Stat with Daddy, Madeleine, I'm going to get Tali," Jenny said brightly.

Gibbs, tired of the ceaseless jumping around, picked Madeleine up again and swung her on to his hip, holding her in front of him and peering down at her smugly. She stuck her tongue out good-naturedly and twisted to look curiously at Jenny.

"Mommy's cuuuuuuuute," she trilled, giggling.

"Yes," agreed Gibbs seriously nodding his head dramatically. He looked over Madeleine's head, narrowing his eyes in the sudden sunny brightness as he watched Jenny walk in between two parked taxicabs—his vision lit up unexpectedly and burned; he flinched.

Instincts that were honed to a fine point suddenly told him he wasn't staring into the bright sun—he was staring into something much worse. His vision went up in smoke and flames; he saw the explosion before he started to feel the impact—before he heard the deafening roar of a building being brought to its knees.

Madeleine _screamed._

The sound pierced his ears painfully and the next few seconds were so charged with panic and fear that he barely remembered them later—he threw his hands tightly over Madeleine's head, protecting her skull and the back of her neck, and dropped to his knees heavily; he grit his teeth against the numbing pain that shot through his back—he thought he felt shrapnel hit his hands and scrap his shoulder—and, bracing himself with enough restraint not to crush her, he threw himself forward, laying as flat as he could, protecting his screaming daughter with his body hunkered over her and his nose and mouth all but smothered in the rocky, muddy gravel that framed the side of the tattered, chaotic Tel Aviv streets.

* * *

><p>The trauma that surrounded the entire sordid event prevented Jenny from clearly remembering everything that had happened in the moments before she was violently flung into the windshield of the taxi she'd just walked by.<p>

She knew she covered her head and protected her neck—she knew she wasn't hurt badly, just banged up, aching, and bleeding a little from her leg and side. She felt hot and wind-burned, and she coughed roughly, blinking, struggling to sit up and carefully avoid the glass that had shattered and fallen around her.

All she could hear was screaming, panicked, unintelligible, horrified screaming—and she could barely see; there was dust and fire everywhere. She fumbled around for something to hold onto and found the mirror of the taxi; she used it to steady herself as she stood, bent over, trying to catch her breath. Hysteria rose in her throat and sent chills down her spine; her first thought was the she couldn't see or touch Jethro or Madeleine—she didn't know if they were okay—and her second thought was that Tali was dead—she felt it like ice water down her back.

Jenny gasped and turned around jerkily, trying to stumble back the way she'd come. She blinked dust and smoke out of her eyes, flinching in the still burning desert sun, and thought it couldn't help her at all, she started screaming—screaming because she was so scared—screaming until her throat was raw.

* * *

><p>The explosion triggered Gibbs' military training and he focused immediately.<p>

He lay low until he sensed the immediate danger had settled and then he rose up on his elbows, staying low to the ground, keeping Madeleine trapped protectively under his chest. She was kicking his waist, struggling in fear, her dress, skin, and hair covered with dirt. He called her name gently, but she was sobbing too loudly to hear him. He flinched; the sound of her distress grated on his sanity and hurt him more than any rough piece of shrapnel ever could.

Steeling himself, he ignored her screaming and began checking her for injuries, keeping a sharp eye out for blood, scratches—anything on her that could mean she needed a hospital. He felt cautiously comfortable with deciding she was all right; from the sound of it, she was just scared.

Gibbs picked her up and rolled over, sitting up and cradling her in his lap, his knees pulled up for support. He stroked her hair and bent to kiss her forehead, doing the best he could to soothe her before he moved her or let himself feel the threatening, chilling fear that was gripping him about Jenny.

Jenny, who he'd last seen walking towards the building that just went up in flames.

"Daddy," Madeleine sobbed. "Daddy," she screamed, mumbling unintelligently in Hebrew.

He looked around him and stood up, bearing the brunt of their weight on his knees—and that sent a jolt of pain up through his spine again. He still cradled Madeleine like she was an infant, covering her face with his arm, and he looked around, his eyesight adjusting to the post-explosion scene.

He took a step and froze—he heard a scream amidst the other yells and cries for help that was unmistakably Jenny's—a scream that he'd heard in Paris, when he'd taken a bullet, and a scream that he'd heard again in the Czech Republic. It was raw and terrified and it made his blood run cold, but before he could seek the direction it had come from, pounding footsteps reached his ears, he blinked, and she was there, clutching his arm, clawing at his back, her hands shaking as she desperately tried to access Madeleine.

Gibbs loosened his grip so she could see Madeleine, and Jenny gasped, her eyes sliding closed in pale-faced relief.

She threw herself close to Gibbs, pressing her body against him and reaching into his arms to hug and kiss Madeleine, her dusty, dirty face streaked prominently with tears. She looked up, her eyes wet and hollow, and she reached up to touch his neck.

"Are you okay?" she asked hoarsely, still shouting over the noise. "Are you okay, Jethro? Say something, say something, I need to hear your voice!" she demanded hysterically.

"I'm fine," he said aggressively. "Jen, you're bleeding," he told her.

"I know," she said, her voice interrupted by a sob. "I know, I'm hurting," she added. He could see she was losing her cool, panicking—but this was her territory, he needed to know the safe place to go, he needed her to tell me what to do.

"Jen," he said sharply, shifting Madeleine and hugging her tightly against his shoulder. "Jenny, tell me what to do—do you need a hospital?"

She stepped back, bent over, and threw up.

He wasn't surprised—she usually vomited when she was traumatized—but he was frustrated; he would have lost control of his own fear and stress if Ziva hadn't materialized out of nowhere.

Her face was expressionless and she looked unharmed, save for a ghastly, horribly mangled cut that went from behind her hear down her shoulder and oozed thick, coppery blood onto her ripped blouse. She took Jenny's hand gently and pulled her close, looking at Gibbs with hard, meaningful eyes.

"There is a medical center at the Complex," she said in a controlled, cold voice. "I will take her there. I will secure you in my quarters there," Ziva said. She began to lead Ziva away towards her car.

Gibbs obeyed her instantly.

He let Ziva get Jenny in the back seat of the car, and he handed Madeleine in, watching Jenny buckle the three-year-old in best she could and then curl herself around her, tending to her with as much strength as she could. Gibbs opened his door, pausing as he caught Ziva looking sharply at the mass of flames that had once been the hotel.

"Ziva," he said sharply.

She looked at him over the hood of the car with blank, inky eyes, her face a porcelain mask of impenetrable strength.

"My sister is dead," she said bluntly.

She sank into the driver's seat and fired the ignition. Swallowing hard, he got in next to her, slammed the car door, and turned around, his eyes meeting Jenny's—and the both of them directed their energy towards calming down their petrified daughter.

* * *

><p>It seemed like hours that he was on lockdown in Ziva's Mossad Complex suite. He waited in tense, charged silence. Jenny was in the medical bay, somewhere underground. Madeleine had been checked out and cleared; he had given her a sedative—but he hadn't put her down.<p>

She was fast asleep in his arms now; he had gently cleaned up her face and changed her into cool, clean, and comfortable clothes. He had helped her brush her hair and he had done his best to tell her Mommy was going to be fine—Mommy just needed to see a doctor to make her cuts go away.

Tali David's death was unconfirmed, but he felt it in his gut. He felt it in the way his head ached and his throat dried and his muscles throbbed. He swallowed, staring straight ahead of him at a blank expanse of wall from where he sat on an immaculate tan leather couch. Ziva's quarters were undecorated, empty, and unfeeling.

He felt imprisoned.

Gibbs rubbed Madeleine's back, more to reassure himself than to comfort her. He looked down at her peaceful, sleeping face and felt like he couldn't breathe. It was too much to handle—being that close to death was too much to handle. He didn't feel like he was capable of keeping it together.

Wincing at the pain in his muscles, he stood up and carried Madeleine into Ziva's bedroom. He settled her among the pillows and covered her with a soft, cashmere blanket that was messily folded near a pair of Ziva's boots. He kissed her forehead and put a pillow on either side of her to keep her from rolling.

He left the room.

Almost immediately, he stormed back in and stood in the doorway, staring at her.

He leaned against the open door and slowly sank to the floor, able to see both the entrance to the suite and the bed Madeleine slept in from his low vantage point. He wasn't thinking about anything but Kelly—Kelly, and Madeleine's screaming, sobbing fear in Tel Aviv.

Gibbs rubbed a shaking hand over his mouth and raised it to his eyes, cradling his forehead in his palm. He closed his eyes heavily and let out his breath, his shoulders slumping against the door. When he felt wetness on his hands and face, he closed his hand over his nose and wiped his cheeks, brushing his palm on his shoulder and raising his palm to shield his eyes again.

If he did this as quietly and quickly as possible, it would be over and he'd be able to be there for Jenny and be strong for his daughter.

He took a deep breath and swept his thumb and forefinger under his eyes, brushing his fingers off on his shirt again. He set his jaw and grit his teeth, struggling still to fight the irritating stinging in his eyes. He threw his head back against the door, ignoring the throb that banging it against the wood elicited.

He wiped his eyes again, and when the door opened and Jenny slipped tiredly into Ziva's suite, his hand was still over his eyes evasively.

He cleared his throat, forced his palms into his eyes, and stood up abruptly, turning to face her. She walked up to him slowly, put her hands on his chest, and looked past him worriedly. Her eyes fell on Madeleine, asleep in the bed, and it was as if her muscles turned to jelly and she leaned into him, slipping her arms around his waist.

"Oh, Jethro," she murmured, squeezing her eyes closed. She pulled back from the hug after a moment and placed her palms on his neck, looking at him calmly, biting her bottom lip. She pressed her hand to his cheek, her knuckles brushing lightly over his skin.

She didn't say anything, but she didn't feel so weak anymore—feeling tears on his skin, even if he was going to stand and pretend he had never shed them—made her feel safe, and strong. It wasn't that it made him weak; it simply told her that she wasn't pathetic for losing her control so easily.

He looked away from her gruffly and pulled up the cotton, loose t-shirt she was wearing, his hands flying to the injury he'd seen in the city. Tenderly, he ran his fingers over rigid, dark stiches that held together a gash in her side—he crouched down and pushed up her shorts, putting his thumb against the couple stitches that ran around her thigh almost like a garter.

He looked up.

She had burns and cuts on her neck and clavicle; her hair was pulled back.

"Jethro," she choked.

She tilted her head back as he stood up. She shook her head, ponytail swinging.

"I threw up," she snorted bitterly, hating that annoying, childish reaction she always had to trauma. She laughed mirthlessly, and the laugh dissolved into tears immediately. Gibbs gently coaxed her towards the living area, shutting Madeleine in the room behind them.

"I thought you'd gone in that building, Jen," he said hoarsely.

She let out a strangled cry and shook her head; she covered her mouth, trying to compose herself.

"I saw you cradling her like that—like a baby, Jethro, and she looked so limp," Jenny broke off, her words failing her. "I thought she was dead," she whispered, voice raw. She looked pale and sick again. "My heart stopped."

"She's not dead."

"How did you live when you lost Kelly?" Jenny burst out shakily, her eyes wide and liquid with incomprehension.

"It wasn't really living," he answered, his voice constricted. He lifted his shoulders, unable to explain it. It couldn't be put into the words, the pain and suffering of losing Kelly. He just moved his mouth wordlessly. "It was hell," he said hoarsely. "_Hell_."

"It still is, isn't it?" she asked quietly, reaching up to touch his face again. Her thumb rested on his lip.

He looked at her guardedly for a moment, a moment she thought he was going to push her away and suddenly realize he had let his guard down too much. He seemed to give up, though; he seemed to decide it wasn't worth it to push her away from him.

He nodded.

She bowed her head and leaned into his chest, clinging to him. She took a few deep breaths and he could feel her breathing heavily, a scared, panicky sort of breathing. She lifted her head, her eyes determined, her lips parted.

"Jethro," she said in a small but firm voice. "You have to take her with you," she told him, her throat locking up even as she made the irreversible decision. "You have to take her. She will be safer with you," she said.

"Jenny," he interrupted tensely. "You're traumatized. You can't make decision like this right now, you—"

"I can," she said, "I am. She needs something more stable than this. She needs to be with you."

"She needs you too," he said aggressively, his voice rising.

"I know that!" Jenny cried, stepping back a little. Tears rolled down her face. "I know that, Jethro, but she can't stay _here_—she can't stay with _me_! You have to take her with you—take her to that beautiful house you have, with that backyard and—Jethro, buildings don't just _explode_ in Washington DC," Jenny said desperately. "What happened here, today—it's a commonality! It's a fact of life!"

He stared at her, daunted by the prospect, unsure if he should talk her out of it or if he should agree. It scared him to be put in charge of Madeleine so suddenly and so completely, but he knew he wanted her with him more than anything.

He wanted Jenny, too.

Gibbs reached out and touched her neck with both hands, trying to soothe her. She took his wrists lightly in her hands.

"Let her sleep, Jenny," he said, the tension still in his voice. "Don't wake her up."

"She isn't going to understand, Jethro," Jenny said weakly. She batted her eyelashes and lifted her eyes to the ceiling. "What are we going to say to her?"

He didn't know what to tell Jenny; he had never been in this situation before. He and Shannon had never discussed what Kelly had been told about her father's military job, though Gibbs knew Shannon had told their daughter at some point that there was always a chance Daddy might not come home.

Gibbs didn't have an experience with children and those kinds of conversations.

"You really want me to take her home with me?" he asked quietly.

She squeezed his wrists.

"Tali David is dead," she said, the words falling heavily on his ears.

A look of stony sorrow crossed his blue eyes.

Jenny swallowed hard, shaking her head, her lips trembling. She pulled away violently and her hand flew to her forehead; her fingers were shaking.

"I should not take Cairo," she said, the panicky note overtaking her voice again. "I have been so selfish, so unbelievably selfish," she swore, her voice cracking, and hugged herself, her back to him, bowing her head. "I can't take Cairo," she moaned.

"Jen," he said firmly. "Jenny, come here," he approached her.

They needed to sit in silence, or she needed to cry or—they couldn't make decisions like this right now.

She whirled around and slapped his hand away from her, holding onto his fingers. There was a determined, hurt glint in her green eyes. She bit her lip and then swallowed heavily and opened her mouth, taking a deep breath.

He wasn't expecting the next breathless, ominous words that fell on his ears, but she said them anyway, and it was like an open-palmed slap in the face:

"You need to know why I left you in Paris."

* * *

><p>The only alcohol Ziva kept in her quarters was vodka, and Gibbs grudgingly accepted the double shot Jenny poured for him. He figured it couldn't taste any worse than the bitter pill he was about to swallow. For a long time, he had thought he deserved to know just why she had abandoned what they had in Paris; now he wasn't so sure he wanted to—not when he'd moved on, and gotten over it.<p>

She came back in from checking furtively on Madeleine and sat down across from him at Ziva's small worktable—an impersonal, wooden square that was sequestered in the window area, with three chairs around it.

Jenny pushed her hair back, pursed her lips, and tapped the edge of her glass. She looked up at him frankly and pursed her bottom lip; her demeanor suggested she was resigned to revealing something she had never wanted to talk about.

"When I was in college, my father was accused of dealing arms during the Cold War," she said bluntly, without fanfare and with no introduction. "He was career army, a decorated Colonel, and to be sickeningly cliché, my hero," she went on dryly.

Gibbs leaned back, studying her intently. He realized he was just as ignorant of Jenny's family as she had been—and still was, to a certain extent—of his.

She sighed, frustrated.

"There are a lot of classified black ops and legal terms and mazes involved in the accusations and investigation," she said tightly. "It was like a damn Tom Clancy novel, but there wasn't that lingering, hopeful knowledge that my father would get cleared. I was trying to finish school and there were lawyers and reporters and CIA agents in my face every hour of every _day_."

She pushed her hair back and took a drink of vodka.

"I went from being the respected Colonel's daughter to the traitor's daughter in a matter of weeks and my father would not read me in on anything—_anything_," she reiterated. "I only knew what was in the courts and on the news, and it was a lot of slander and misplaced hatred," she clenched her fist.

Gibbs furrowed his brow.

"What was he accused of?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I just told you," she snapped. She took a deep breath and flicked her eyes away apologetically. "He was accused of selling the US's Cold War arsenal to a network of international, independent arms dealers, the leader of which was a man named Rene Benoit," she answered quietly. "_La Grenouille_."

Gibbs frowned thoughtfully, wracking his brains.

"That's frog," he said, uncertainly. "It's French, for 'frog'," he said more confidently.

"_Oui_," she answered sarcastically. "Fitting, as he's a slimy, cold motherfucker," she snapped.

Gibbs eyebrows went up slightly in mild surprise at her language. She looked sour and shrugged, looking into her drink again. She wrinkled her nose, distressed lines appearing on her forehead. She looked upset and shook her head, setting her glass down heavily and looking out the window.

"He was about to be stripped of his title and dishonorably discharged," she said hoarsely. "The army was my father's life. I was living at home for a while after I graduated, just while I got on my feet, and to show him support," she bit her lip. "I never believed he was guilty."

"What happened?" Gibbs asked neutrally.

"Officially?" she asked bitterly, looking back at him sharply. "He shot himself in his study," she said dully. "I was upstairs."

Gibbs winced, and drew in his breath. He stretched his hand across the table and touched her wrist with his index finger.

Jenny tapped the center of her forehead with her free hand and her lips trembled.

"He used his personal weapon, the Glock he taught me to shoot when I was fifteen," she said quietly.

Gibbs rubbed her hand gently and narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Officially," he murmured. "You don't think he killed himself?"

She scoffed slightly.

"My father did not commit suicide," she growled. "He wasn't a coward. He wasn't the type—and he sure as hell was _not_ going to pull a trigger and leave the world thinking he betrayed the country he'd served since he was _seventeen years old_, Jethro!"

Gibbs nodded slowly, showing her he was listening.

She shook her head, her face flushed with anger.

"I called his lawyer and the police," she said. "I was in shock; I was adamant that there had to be an investigation," Jenny shrugged violently. "No one listened. It was declared a suicide, and he went down in military history as one of the greatest traitors to work in the Pentagon."

She bit her lip and reached for his hand, flattening it out gently on the table and touching the place between his thumb and forefinger, drawing a circle with her nail.

"He—Dad—he had a pressure bruise right here, like someone had," Jenny paused and applied harsh pressure to the spot and almost immediately, Jethro felt paralyzed; a burning pain shot up his arm and down his spine and he tried to yank away, but he couldn't.

She let go, and looked up at him pointedly.

"If someone pressures this spot, you can't fight back when they put your own gun in your hand and manipulate your fingers to pull the trigger on yourself," she hissed coldly.

Gibbs pulled his hand back and rubbed it, looking at her guardedly.

"You think someone murdered him?" he asked, prompting her again.

She put a hand to her lips.

"I think La Grenouille murdered him," she said coolly. "That bruise," she pointed at Gibbs' hand, "That isn't the only reason. There was a glass of scotch on my father's desk, but one of our crystal tumblers was missing," she hesitated. "Someone took a glass."

"You're sure it wasn't missing before?"

Her eyes filled with tears.

"I can't be sure," she admitted hoarsely. "But I know it, Jethro. I feel it," she broke off. "I would have thought I was going crazy—my friends, my boyfriend at the time, they _did_ think I was losing it. They thought I was in denial, hysterical. But after the funeral—after the _civilian_ funeral I was forced to give my father because he was _denied_ military honors—that bastard came to my house."

"The Frog?" Gibbs asked.

She nodded, swallowing.

"He was in the study when I came home," she said softly. "He was in the study, drinking _my_ father's scotch, and smoking _my_ father's cigars," she snapped. "He came to offer his condolences, he said. He had known my father in Germany, years ago, when I was just a child—" Jenny paused. "And I remembered him, Jethro," she hissed. "He brought me gifts—he was a contact of my father's, and he betrayed him."

"He told you he killed your dad?"

She snorted, shaking her head.

"He said it was a pity the Colonel was unable to live with his actions," she quoted. "He returned the missing crystal, and he left."

Gibbs' brows went up.

Jenny fell silent and then looked down at her hands, lacing her fingers together.

"I tried to get the police to re-open the investigation, but I couldn't prove the glass had been missing," she said quietly. "And the military wanted to believe that they had neutralized their threat."

"Why would the Frog come back?" Gibbs asked skeptically. "Why goad you like that?"

"Because he's an arrogant son of a bitch, Jethro!" she burst out. "He had just made off with an entire arsenal of weaponry _and_ he'd thrown the blame on a high-ranking _American_ official!"

Tears sprung to her eyes again and she bit her lip.

"I spent my entire year at FLET-C going over everything I could get my hands on and desperately trying to appeal his case," she said. "I just wanted his name cleared—and when I couldn't get that, I wanted revenge," she explained tightly.

"You find anything out?"

She nodded, pressing her tongue to her bottom lip firmly before she spoke again.

"My father was leading Special Operations at the Pentagon," she said curtly. "He worked with the CIA, and the Army turned a blind eye to a lot of what he did in the name of national security. He was working with _La Grenouille_ in what they _thought_ was a sting to take down a ring in Chechnya; _La Grenouille_ tried to bribe him to turn the arms over. My father refused the bribe, and _La Grenouille turned_ on him," she explained. She lifted her arms stiffly and slammed them on the table. "That's all she wrote," she finished bitterly.

She shot back the rest of her vodka and looked out the window again, holding her palm against her cheek. She looked emotionally drained, and she was pale. Recounting this story, on top of the violence and trauma in the streets today, had not been good for her. She wanted to drink herself into a stupor and sleep for days.

Gibbs rubbed his jaw, trying to fit all the pieces together.

"You've been after this bastard," he said slowly, working it out. "You've been _hunting_ him," he accused lightly.

"You are damn right I've been hunting him," she responded honestly.

"Why NCIS?" he asked. "Why not the CIA?"

She turned her head to him sharply.

"Because he'd expect the CIA," she hissed smartly. She swallowed and leaned forward. "Because I used my connections to my advantage," she admitted, a little sheepish. "My father had a friendly relationship with McAlister," Jenny revealed. "The head of the San Diego Field Office?"

"Yeah, I know McAlister," Gibbs grunted. He glared at her. "He assigned us the Paris Op," Gibbs remembered.

She pursed her lips and nodded seriously.

"He never believed my father would kill himself, either," she said aggressively. "He fought to get me that Op so I could get my foot in the door," she went on. "He figured an agent with a vendetta against an arms dealer could only be beneficial. Morrow had me work with Decker in LA before they teamed us up for Europe. He made sure I could hack it."

Gibbs' head ached. He rubbed his mouth again and leaned forward, tapping his finger on the table.

"Svetlana and Zhukov," he said abruptly. "They had assets in Chechnya," he growled.

She arched a brow icily.

"Who do you think brought that information to NCIS?" she asked coolly. "Their names were in my father's files. McAlister had been after them for years."

Gibbs didn't know whether to laugh or start throwing things. Her history, what had brought her to NCIS, was so full of intrigue and inside information that he was no longer surprised she was so successful at political undercover operations. She was a phenomenal asset to this agency, and no matter how much respect he afforded her, it seemed he always underestimated her.

"Jen, you couldn't kill Svetlana," Gibbs said curtly, glaring. "I had to cover it."

"I know," she said bitterly.

"How the hell did you think you'd be able to execute this Frog guy?" he patronized.

"It is _different_," she snapped.

As soon as she said it, he understood. She was compartmentalizing it. She didn't want to stare into the face of someone whose story she didn't know and pull a trigger, but she very much wanted to exact revenge upon someone who had made her hurt so much.

After a moment, Gibbs spoke calmly:

"Your entire career has been focused on vengeance," he said.

She didn't answer. She turned her head away from him again. She nodded slowly and her lashes closed over her eyes lightly.

"You knew you'd be offered a promotion after Paris?" Gibbs asked.

She nodded again.

"I knew if I kept climbing the ladder I'd find the power to bring him down," she murmured. She opened her eyes and looked down, tilting her head and glancing at him with a resigned smirk. "I didn't know what a mess I'd get in when they partnered me with you," she admitted honestly.

He let himself smile.

"Why did you leave, Jen?" he asked.

It felt like a rhetorical, redundant question—but he wanted to hear her say it, even though he had a clear idea now. She bit her lip and lifted her shoulders shakily, her eyes wide and unguarded.

"Jethro," she said, a little exasperated. "The only man I'd ever loved was my father, and that relationship had just been destroyed, emotionally and physically. I was afraid I was trying to replace him with you, and I was," she paused. "Unstable, I suppose. The ambition I had to get revenge gave me focus, and it took my mind off the pain. The thought of moving in with you—when you asked me to come back with you," she shook her head. "I couldn't. I felt like I was letting Dad down. You were so—you don't think you're different now," Jenny said quietly. "But you _are_. Back then, in Paris? Loving you was a terrifying, insecure thing, and I didn't want to take the risk. I knew how to be alone. I didn't know how to be in love," Jenny sighed and frowned, shrugging her shoulders. "I ran."

He felt like he understood.

He let silence hang between them. He shrugged a little.

"Why tell me now?" he asked gently.

"You understand why," she replied. "You would not have understood back then," she said simply. "You were too angry." Jenny smirked a little wryly. "I like to think I broke your heart," she teased hollowly.

He rolled his eyes tensely, glaring at her. She leaned back in her chair, looking at him tiredly; her shoulders slumped. He leaned forward, his hands resting in front of him limply.

"What does this have to do with Cairo?" he asked seriously. "What does it have to do with Emmy?"

"Everything," she said, looking at him with her brow furrowed. "I stayed in Israel so I could keep my career path, I was going to take Cairo so I could keep that career path, all to get _La Grenouille_. My entire career has been about him since I was twenty-two, and it all _should_ have been about Madeleine from the day she was born."

Gibbs' thoughts crashed together in his head.

"Jen," he said tersely. "Jenny," he shook his head. "You can't quit this job," he said aggressively. "You're too good."

"I'm not talking quitting," she placated. "I'm talking re-evaluating. I _should_ take a position in New York, or some field office," she said, resigned. "You know, there's all this talk these days of women having it all, a career, a kid—I think they can. I really think we can have it all, but I can't have it all in _this_ career," she said. "Having a job and a daughter is not the problem, having a job in which the number one thing on my mind is _murder_," she lifted her chin. "It's unhealthy."

"You don't want to get his guy anymore?" Gibbs asked, frustrated and confused. "That makes it all worth nothing, Jen," he growled. "It makes leaving me worth nothing."

"We wouldn't have lasted if I hadn't left," she said dully. "You know that."

"What's gotten into you?" he demanded.

"This," she said, lunging forward and pointing her finger at the table. "This place, this war," she hissed. "Tali was killed today, Jethro, a very young girl who only ever wanted to see peace was brutally murdered, months before she was to go off to a country where she wouldn't be in such danger. Having a child has made me think about the connections between people, the pain caused by death—Rene Benoit has a daughter," she said coolly. "A woman I have never given a damn about until now. I have made it my mission to end his life, and when I do? _If_ I do? I'll have put another young woman through the same _horrifying_ pain I suffered."

"Jen, you don't have to focus on him anymore," Gibbs said seriously. "You're still needed. You can do _good_ in Cairo. You can stop attacks like this from happening," he faltered, struggling to find a way to put this into words. "You may have fought for the wrong reasons, but it's the _right_ fight. You can't let yourself go to waste."

She looked at him, biting her lower lip.

"If I take Cairo," she said softly. "You have to promise me you'll take Madeleine. You'll take care of her."

"'Course I'll take care of her, Jen," he said gruffly.

He reached up and rubbed his forehead, clearing his through roughly. He took a deep breath.

"I killed the son of a bitch who killed Shannon and Kelly," he said hoarsely. He swallowed hard. "I don't regret it. I've never lost a night of sleep over it," he hesitated, blinking heavily. "But it didn't make anything better. It didn't bring them back."

She reached up and brushed her eyes dry, looking at him with parted lips. She reached up and pushed her hair behind her ears.

"You think I should go to Cairo?" she asked shakily.

"Yeah," he agreed firmly. "Yeah, I do."

Jenny looked stunned. She pressed her lips together. She looked at his glass of vodka; he had left it untouched.

She felt curiously relieved. They had never covered this much ground in their relationship, and they had been involved intimately with each other for well over three years now. It felt invigorating, but her head ached. There was no reason why she should be allowed to feel relief and healing when one of her dearest friends was dead.

"We'll have to talk to Madeleine," she said, exhausted. "She won't understand what's happened to Tali," Jenny admitted. "But I think we can get her used to the idea of living with you."

Gibbs felt a tingling of apprehension rising in his spine and he nodded. Jenny stood up, nodding her head.

"I'll check on her," she said quietly.

She winced as she moved, her whole body sore.

Gibbs held his glass of vodka.

He chose not to drink it, and, after sitting in frozen solitude for a moment, absorbing the chaos and revelations, he stood and followed her. He walked into Ziva's bedroom slowly, stopping at the edge of the bed next to Jenny. The redhead rested her palm on sleeping Madeleine's back and then lay down next to her, snuggling up with her daughter.

Gibbs sat down next to her and traced her stitches again silently. Jenny rolled over to face him and cleared her throat. She started to say something, but instead closed her mouth and started to cry, overwhelmed.

Gibbs leaned down and kissed her, closing his eyes, exhausted by that same emotional strain.

* * *

><p>Jenny was asleep and Madeleine was groggy and fussy when Gibbs left Ziva's room with the pre-schooler in his arms, set on keeping her calm and allowing her mother to catch the precious few hours of dreamless sleep she could.<p>

Gibbs left the suite, humming softly in Madeleine's ear, and began a soothing pace through the labyrinthine hallways of Mossad. It was as silent as the grave in these dark spaces, and the Complex was cloaked in an ominous sense of dread and malevolence. He wanted to take Madeleine and Jenny back to the apartment in Ramat Aviv, but he had been told by Eli David to wait for a safety clearance.

Madeleine shifted uncomfortably and whined softly some more. She was half-asleep and in an unhappy mood, something she couldn't be blamed for. He thought walking around might either catch her interest or soothe her back to sleep—and he was restless himself. He needed the movement.

He had turned a long corner and was about to retrace his steps when he heard the muted sound of shattering glass bursting from behind a closed door a few feet in front of him. He stopped, alert, and moments later another crash followed—and a thud, and a resounding banging. His gut told him there was no threat; he walked forward, leaning towards the door. Madeleine lifted her head; he soothed her with a kiss and pressed her face into his shoulder again.

Muffled, through the door, he could hear raw, broken Arabic; a female voice rising about the daunting sound of things being broken and thrown around.

He straightened up and opened the door, looking inside.

He found exactly what he'd expected he'd find.

In the seconds it took him to step inside and quietly close the door, Ziva did not notice Gibbs enter; she continued violently rending the room to shreds—breaking the legs of a chair, smashing electronics, throwing objects at the vast windows.

She whirled around, her wild, dark hair flying, and she yanked a hunting knife from her boot. Her eyes flashed and she took a well-used blanket from the table near her, beginning to rend it to shreds with the weapon.

It was when she cut the edges from the thick material that she noticed him standing there and the colour drained from her stricken face. She dropped the blanket, and her face-hardened into the mask of stone that he'd seen in the streets after the explosion.

She held the knife in a desperate, dangerous manner.

He saw her knuckles tighten on the hilt of her blade and her hand twitched; she turned the blade towards her wrist.

"Ziva," he said quietly, his eyes boring into hers.

She parted her lips viciously, and then she dropped the knife. It landed dangerously close to her booted foot. She fell to her knees, her mask of stone melting just as quickly as it had appeared, and she let her hair fall in a curtain that hid her face as she crouched, paralyzed, on her hands and knees in the middle of the wreckage.

Madeleine whimpered softly, her hands over hear ears. Gibbs shushed her; she looked tired and confused by the commotion, and Gibbs reprimanded himself silently for bringing her in here. He bent forward to let her onto her feet and her approached Ziva, crouching down next to her. He put his hand on the back of her head.

"Ziva," he said softly.

"Gibbs," she moaned.

Her whole body shuddered and she sobbed hoarsely. She sat back on her thighs and turned to him, holding onto his shoulders blindly.

"Tali," she cried. "Gibbs, Tali was _untouchable_!"

Ziva leaned forward, collapsed against his shoulder, and he put his arm around her, looking over the fallen warrior's shoulder to meet his daughter's wide, curious green eyes. Madeleine crept forward, lowering her hands from her ears. She stood and looked at Ziva.

Gibbs held Ziva around her shoulders tightly, acutely aware that he was the only person who would likely ever witness her like this—he knew it was because she knew about Shannon and Kelly. The eldest David sister and Gibbs had always had an implicit understanding of each other; they were both soldiers. They shared the bond of war.

"Zee," Madeleine said sleepily.

Ziva did not hear. She was absorbed in her pain, struggling with the weakness of crying into Gibbs's shoulder.

He coaxed Madeleine closer and put a finger to his lips, indicating that Ziva didn't want to talk. He pushed Madeleine's hair back and smiled at her sadly. He and Jenny had not yet told the little girl that Tali had died.

Ziva's honed, cat-like senses told her that she and Gibbs were not alone, and she straightened, turning with narrow, red eyes to the child.

Ziva stared at Madeleine, her body tense—as if she would spring away out of fear or apprehension. Gibbs knew she rarely interacted with his daughter, though he had never known if it was because she did not like children, or due to something else entirely.

"Madeleine," Ziva said softly, surprising Gibbs. "You loved my sister like I did," she said weakly, nodding her head. She swallowed and stood up. She picked up Madeleine and held her close, murmuring in rapid, muted Hebrew.

"She loved you so much, little one," Ziva whispered. "You must always remember her," she said, burying her face in Madeleine's loose curls.

Gibbs rose to his feet slowly, his own expression firm and stony.

He was not sure how much more of this turmoil he could take. It was all too concentrated, too intense. He needed to breathe—they all needed to step back, and let it sink in, and _breathe_.

Ziva looked up at him slowly, and he met her eyes with the implicit promise that he would never speak of the emotion she'd shown here. She nodded, her eyelashes fluttering, and she still hugged Madeleine. She showed no signs of letting Madeleine go.

Madeleine struggled to look at Ziva and touched her face.

"Where is Tali, Zee?" she asked, yawning through her high voice.

Ziva could not speak; she could only look at the little girl helplessly.

* * *

><p>To say Madeleine's last few days in Israel had been a struggle would be an understatement, but it was the word Jenny and Gibbs had mutually taken to use whenever they referred to the many aspects of the situation they were in.<p>

Gibbs had wrangled an extension of his trip out of the Director solely by making the promise that he would need no more leave time to visit Israel from this point on. He had then touched base with his team, and spent several hours coordinating plans with Noemi and Ducky. He chose to leave Abby out of the arrangements for now; she would be eager, but what he needed was calm and practical.

Ducky had been tasked with giving Gibbs' house a once over to ensure it was as child-safe as possible for the time being. Noemi was busy purchasing a few necessities for Madeleine: a car seat to drive her home in, clothing, stuffed animals, some toys. Jenny would be shipping much of Madeleine's things over in the next month, but Gibbs was going to need interim supplies.

Amidst the rush of making arrangements for Madeleine's move to the United States and dealing with the emptiness that Tali's untimely death had left, Jenny was doing the best she could too calmly help her daughter understand that she would be living with Daddy from now on.

For the past few days, they had—with gentle determination—tried to reinforce the concept of what moving in with Daddy meant. Madeleine seemed to be listening to them. She responded, she asked questions, but no matter how much they prepared her and talk to her, Jenny and Gibbs both knew that when the reality of being separated from Jenny struck, there was going to be fallout.

It was inevitable.

When it came down to the moment of parting—when they were again standing in the Tel Aviv airport saying goodbye, Jenny felt as if she couldn't breathe. Her hands were shaking. She had been in this position before. She was used to farewells in airports—but this was different. This time, she would be the one left alone.

Gibbs had Madeleine's diaper bag over his shoulder; Jenny had pulled it out of a closet to pack full of things to entertain her during the flight. Madeleine was dressed comfortably in pale blue shorts and a sleeveless, checkered pink shirt. Jenny handed Gibbs the cardigan she was holding in case the flight was cold and bit her lip.

"You call me when you land," she said calmly.

He nodded.

Jenny took a deep breath. She heard them call for Gibb's flight and she reached but and took Madeleine from him, hugging her tightly. She kissed her face, her eyes full of tears—but she did not allow them to fall in front of her daughter.

"Madeleine Jane, you be the best little girl you can be, do you hear me?" she asked sincerely. "You be sweet and good to your father and to anyone he says is safe. Make me proud, ahuva," she whispered.

"I will," Madeleine said smugly. "I'm sweet," she cooed, fluttering her eyelashes.

Jenny smiled shakily.

"It might be a long time before I see you," she whispered. "I'll miss you more than anything," Jenny paused and switched to Hebrew to use an analogy that Madeleine would recognize. The little girl giggled and nodded, wrinkling her nose. Jenny returned to English. "I love you."

"I love _you_," Madeleine promised seriously. "I get to see Aba's house," she said matter-of-factly

Jenny smiled.

"Oh, I know. He has a back yard, you know," Jenny said secretively. "If you ask him nicely, he might plant you some pretty daisies!"

Madeleine beamed.

"I will ask sweet," she said. "I will give you some," she added.

Jenny responded by hugging her, and hugging her tightly—she didn't want to let go, but they called Jethro's flight again.

He stepped forward and bent over Jenny, kissing her cheek and squeezing her shoulder. He gave her a quick hug and gently took Madeleine back, settling her on his hip. He waved his hand, and Madeleine mimicked him.

"Tell Mommy goodbye," he said gruffly. "Tell her you'll see her again."

Madeleine obeyed, but she spoke in Hebrew. Jenny waved back. She jumped forward and kissed Madeleine again.

"Jethro, I don't know how you did this," she choked out, rising on tiptoes to kiss his cheek softly.

He didn't have an answer. He looked at Madeleine.

"You ready to go?" he asked.

She nodded brightly, and Gibbs turned. Madeleine wriggled happily, looking around, and then she paused, cocking her head.

"Ima is not coming?" she asked.

"No, honey," he said gently. "Mommy has to stay," he reminded her. "It will be a little different now," he added.

She looked uncertain.

"You stay?" she asked slowly. "Or…Aba, you will be with me?"

"Yes," he said firmly.

"Okay," she said shakily. She turned and peered over Gibbs' shoulder. She looped her arms around his neck and gasped, leaning back. She looked at him with big, uncertain green eyes. "Daddy," she said in a small voice. "Mama is crying."

He cleared his throat.

"Emmy, it's okay," he said strongly.

She stared at him trustingly and clutched him tightly, unsure what to think of the strange situation. Gibbs rubbed her back, aware she was staring across the distance at her mother, and he was afraid for the first time that Madeleine didn't believe him when he told her it was going to be okay.

Madeleine had been on a plane before, but this time around she was much more alert and perceptive to her surroundings.

She held a sippy cup full of apple juice in her lap and looked around as they coasted somewhere over the ocean, directing her attention away from what she had decided was the 'scary window'. She had not spoken much since they had taken off, and Gibbs was beginning to worry that the reality of leaving the only home she'd ever known was sinking in.

* * *

><p>Madeleine lifted the cup and drank it, leaning back in her seat.<p>

She set the cup aside and crawled over to Gibbs, climbing silently into his lap and laying her head on his chest. She sniffled, but when he checked, he couldn't find any sign of tears. She frowned and pulled on her ear.

"My ears hurt," she said loudly, probably because they were stopped up and she couldn't hear herself speak. He picked up the sippy cup and handed it to her.

"Drink your juice," he said quietly. "It will help the feeling go away."

She obeyed, but she lost interest in the juice quickly.

"We go to see Tali?" she asked.

"No, honey," he answered grimly.

"Tali going to America," Madeleine informed him, lifting her head and looking up.

"Emmy," he said gently. He put his hand on her hair lightly. "You aren't going to see Tali anymore. She got hurt too much in the accident," he reminded her. Madeleine frowned, trying to understand. She laid her head back against Gibbs and sighed, shifting around to get comfortable.

He reached beneath his seat and rummaged in the diaper bag. He pulled out her favorite book and a blanket, covering her with the latter and nudging her playfully with the edge of the former.

"You want me to read to you, Em?" he asked.

She reached out and touched the book, nodding furiously.

He propped the book up against the arm rest and opened it, lowering his voice:

"_There was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid…"_

* * *

><p>It was Noemi who met him at the airport. Madeleine was asleep, to the dismay of the Latina woman who was so eager to meet her. Gibbs greeted Noemi apologetically and carefully buckled Madeleine into the new car seat Noemi had in the back of her car. Then he helped load their luggage into the trunk.<p>

"Your flight was pleasant, _Senor_?"

"Ah, she got a little restless and cranky, but it was fine," he answered. "I'll spend the weekend gettin' her settled in, Noemi, and you can spend all the time you want with her once she's more comfortable with me."

Noemi beamed.

"She is beautiful, _Senor_, so very lovely," she complimented.

He grinned and thanked her quietly. She offered him the keys, but he declined, choosing to let her drive in case Madeleine woke up and panicked and he needed to tend to her. He was feeling uncertain and apprehensive now; it was starting to feel very permanent. He was on American soil, and he had to be at work on Tuesday morning. There was no going back now—he was, so to speak, a single father.

"Senor Gibbs, you stay at Senora's house?" Noemi asked as they exited Dulles International.

Gibbs shook his head.

"Nah, I need to get her used to my place," he said. He gave her some instructions on a shorter way to get to his house and, furtively, he kept checking the rearview mirror to see if Madeleine had awoken.

She stayed fast asleep for the entire ride to his house, but when Noemi had parked and was helping him unpack, she groggily opened her eyes and began looking around silently. Gibbs opened the car door and unbuckled her, holding out his arms. She didn't movie, so he picked her up.

She blinked rapidly, her eyes adjusting to wakefulness. It was dark outside. Gibbs took the last bag from Noemi and said goodbye. The housekeeper smiled brightly at Madeleine and waved, but Madeleine sleepily hid her face, confused and shy. Noemi quietly left them alone, and Gibbs steeled himself to enter the house that hadn't had a child in it since Kelly had died twelve years ago.

* * *

><p>He turned all the lights on in his house so it wouldn't seem like a frightening, dark place. He let Madeleine down on the floor, watching her look around the place. She scampered forward drowsily, peering around curiously, and then halted abruptly.<p>

"Aba," she whined uncertainly. "It's big," she said, backing up into his legs. He smiled and crouched down to her level, holding her shoulders.

"That just means more room to play," he said encouragingly. "And room for a puppy, remember?" So he bribed her a little; Jenny didn't have to know about that.

Madeleine stepped forward again. She started for the stairs, changed her mind, and then wandered towards the living room.

"Where's Ima?" she asked unhappily.

Gibbs frowned, tensing up.

"Madeleine," he said gently. "Mama is in Israel," he told her.

Madeleine turned around and looked at him.

"Where are we?" she asked uncertainly, yawning.

"We're in America," he said.

She frowned, swirling around. She shook her head and smiled slightly; Gibbs looked at her with dread. She scampered into the kitchen and he followed slowly—but he'd already figured out that she wasn't aware of what exactly it meant for Jenny to be in Israel.

"Ima," she called. She ran back to Gibbs. "Is Israel far?"

"Madeleine," he said again, kneeling in front of her. He touched her shoulder. "It's very far, it's a whole ocean away," he whispered. "You live with Daddy now."

She said something in Hebrew.

"You need to speak English," he told her gently.

She jumped back, her face turning pale.

"I want Ima," she said, her mouth trembling.

Gibbs started to answer. Madeleine walked past him hesitantly, looking around. She darted around a corner.

"Ima?" he heard her say.

Gibbs rubbed his forehead roughly and stood up, turning to watch her. She went down the hall and stopped, obviously at a loss for wear to go. She ventured down a little, peeked in a room, and shouted:

"Mama!"

He didn't say anything. He figured the only way for it to settle in was for her to realize for herself that her mother was _not_ in this house.

_"Mama!"_ Madeleine screamed.

She ran back into Gibbs' view and went to the stairs, but she had never been up these stairs before and she was scared of them, so she sat down on the bottom one, her mouth trembling and tears spilling down her face. She looked up at Gibbs.

"I want Mommy," she whimpered.

Gibbs picked her up and sat down where she had been sitting, cuddling her comfortingly. She murmured in pained, incoherent Hebrew, softly crying his name, and asking repeatedly for Jenny. He grit his teeth and tried to ignore the ache she was causing in his heart.

This was going to be infinitely harder than he ever could have imagined.

* * *

><p><em>Tali's death was canon, so I do hope that didn't shock you too much-in fact, I believe I made a note at the beginning that she was an expendable character? Well, Miss Tali was the catalyst for Gibbs going to live with Jenny, just like her dear brother was a catalyst for quite a bit of change at NCIS himself. <em>

_Reviews are appreciated!_  
><em>-Alexandra <em>


	10. Assarah

_A/N: I apologize for the wait; I'm writing this chapter by chapter now. I did warn that might happen if I posted before it was finished. I hope the content is pleasing enough to make up for my abysmal lack of ability to use my free time to write, like I should, instead of sitting on the internet mesmerized by nonsense. _

_This chapter is very heavy on character development; welcome guest appearances from Emily & Diane Fornell, Maddie Tyler, and Jackson Gibbs._

_I'm not remarkably satisfied with this chapter, but I am very pleased with the ending. Enjoy!_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Ten<strong>_

**Late April 2004**

Gibbs blinked tiredly as he carried Madeleine down his stairs and into the kitchen. He flipped on the lights and both of them made faces in the bright light. She yawned and rubbed her eyes, laying her head timidly on his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head and pulled Kelly's old booster seat out from the table, sitting to settle Madeleine down in it for breakfast.

"Where's the sun?" Madeleine asked curiously, pointing towards the windows.

"The sun is still sleeping," Gibbs answered gruffly, making sure the seat was strapped to the chair. He felt a twinge of nostalgia as his hand brushed over the messy, rudimentary pictures Kelly had once carved into the booster when Shannon wasn't looking.

"Oh," Madeleine said. She frowned. "I wake up too early," she said sadly. "I'm sorry," she said, her lip trembling. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead gently, shaking his head.

"Don't apologize," he soothed sincerely. "Daddy has to go to work this morning," he told her.

Madeleine fell silent and leaned back, watching him. He waited to see if she would say anything and stood up, heading to the refrigerator.

"Aba, is Ima at work?" she asked in a small voice.

He sighed.

"No, Emmy," he answered quietly. "I work in a place like her, though," he said, being helpful with conversation. "There are friendly people there," he added, pouring milk into a sippy cup and putting the lid on. He handed it to her. "My friend Abby, and my friend Ducky," he explained. "You remember Mama mentioning Ducky?

"Quack," Madeleine said, smirking and putting the cup to her lips. Gibbs grinned and nodded, ruffling her sleep-knotted hair.

"Quack," he agreed. "What do you want to eat?"

"Bananas," she answered seriously. "O-meal."

Gibbs opened one of his cabinets, momentarily caught off guard by all of the food he had in his kitchen. It was taking some getting used to, the sudden fullness of his house. He had gone grocery shopping on Saturday and stocked up. He had gotten things for Madeleine through a mix of using the items he hadn't been able to get rid of after Kelly's death and of purchasing new things.

He had set up a lot of her toys and clothes in the guest room, but she had been so nervous and scared of the new place the past three nights that he had ended up either reading to her, sitting with her by the TV and letting her watch whatever was on in the middle of the night, and—finally—letting her sleep in his bed with her stuffed rabbit.

He was tired and stressed; he had not spoken to Jenny since they left Israel. Madeleine was confused, probably as tired as he was, and cranky. He was walking on eggshells around her. He had decided, with almost no hesitation, to take her to work with him for the first week or so; he still needed to look into good day care options, and she didn't know Noemi well enough for him to be comfortable leaving her.

"Aba," Madeleine piped up, as he set a plate of cut up bananas in front of her. "Becca will sit on me?" she asked.

"Becca is in Israel, too, Madeleine," he said. "You're going to come to work with me," he promised her. Madeleine's eyes widened, though he couldn't tell if she looked excited or scared.

"I will be good," she assured him, reaching for the bananas. She fell into silence while she was eating and Gibbs smirked, turning to brew a pot of coffee. He thought about returning to work with a pre-schooler in tow and didn't know if he found the idea amusing or daunting. It would be interesting to see the reactions of his team—particularly the theories DiNozzo would start spinning—but he was apprehensive that this was all too much change for Madeleine too fast, particularly after someone she'd known and loved very much had just died.

There were things he had to adjust to as well; he needed to get used to having a child in the house at all times. He had to re-orient himself in to the role of father in a completely different way and, on top of that, he acknowledged grimly—surprising himself—that he needed to give his father a call and let him know about Madeleine.

Gibbs scowled to himself and pulled Madeleine's oatmeal from the microwave, pouring himself a cup of coffee before he took it over to her. He stirred up the breakfast with a child's spoon and sat down across from her, setting the bowl in front of her next to the bananas.

"It's a little hot," he warned. "Blow on it so you don't hurt your tongue."

Madeleine did as he asked obediently, and breakfast was a peaceful affair. By the time she had finished, the sun was up, and he carried her into his bedroom so she could play with her toys on his bed while he got dressed. He shaved, washed up, brushed his teeth—and did all of it relatively quickly, since he had no one to supervise her while he was in the bathroom.

Still, as fast as he was getting ready, she was snuggled on the pillows asleep when he came out, and he shook his head good-naturedly. He let her sleep, gathering things into her bag so he would be prepared at work. He deliberated on whether or not he should wake her to get her dressed or do it at work, and decided on the former.

"Emmy," he whispered, sitting down with her clothes in his hands. "Emmy Jane, wake up and get dressed. You can go back to sleep in the car."

She was easy to wake up, but she was sluggish, and he did more of the dressing than she did. He brushed her hair, careful of the knots, and shrugged, deciding that was probably as good as it was going to get for the time being.

He didn't drive to work in his usual careless, impatient manner; he drove cautiously and kept one eye on his silent daughter as she dozed in the back seat.

* * *

><p>It was an uncommon thing for all three members of Team Gibbs to arrive at work at precisely the same time, and the fact that it happened—and they all stepped on the same elevator to get to the squad room—should have been an indication that the day was only going to get more bizarre.<p>

"You think Gibbs is back yet?" whined DiNozzo, shifting his weight back and forth as he stared thoughtfully at the elevator doors.

Kate shrugged, adjusting her backpack on her shoulder. She frowned.

"Maybe he's never coming back," McGee piped up.

"Oh, you don't want that, Probie," Tony retorted smugly. "You think mean old Gibbs in charge is bad? What if you had to answer to _me_?"

Kate rolled her eyes.

"Don't listen to him, McGee, I'd keep him off your back," she said.

"I can take care of myself," McGee protested seriously.

DiNozzo and Kate turned to look at him pointedly; McGee scowled at them, pushing through them both to get off the elevator first. There was an annoyed air to his walk as he rounded to corner of the bullpen—and promptly stopped in his tracks, his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline.

Kate walked into his back, and DiNozzo stumbled right into hers, leaping away in fear at what she might do in reaction to his proximity.

"DiNozzo!" snapped Kate.

"Hey," DiNozzo hissed back. He pointed accusingly. "Yell at McTrafficJam up there," he said rudely. "Probie, what are you—"

Kate elbowed DiNozzo and drew her hand across her throat to shut him up. Having noticed the thing that had stopped McGee dead in his tracks, Kate nodded her head slightly at Gibbs' desk, the same arched-eyebrow, surprised look taking up residence on her face. DiNozzo's mouth hung open; his eyes widened.

There was Gibbs, sitting at his desk the same straight-backed, silent way he was every morning he was present at NCIS. The difference on this particular Tuesday was the presence of an unknown, semi-redheaded little girl sitting on his desk. Her small hand was resting on his shoulder as he worked.

"What's going on?" hissed DiNozzo. "Are we in the right place?"

Kate nodded. McGee walked forward slowly, leaving Kate and DiNozzo to stand uncertainly, very close together, right outside of the bullpen. Gibbs ignored them all, though none of them were naïve enough to think he hadn't noticed them.

Kate lowered her voice and turned her head towards Tony slightly, her brow furrowed.

"Gibbs doesn't usually come back from his trips with souvenirs," she remarked.

DiNozzo shook his head in disbelief.

"The mystery that is Leroy Jethro Gibbs just got a lot more intriguing," he muttered.

Kate frowned and slowly entered the bullpen, letting her backpack slide off of her shoulder. DiNozzo did the same, their eyes both still glued to the young stranger at Gibbs' desk. The child looked around and met Kate's eyes; Kate smiled amiably and straightened up a little. The girl turned her back on Kate and shook Gibbs' shoulder insistently.

Gibbs reached up and put his hand over hers.

He looked up after a moment, fixing a pointed glare on each of his team members.

"You three need somethin'?" he asked gruffly.

A chorus of denials answered him and they hastily settled at their desks, shooting him—and each other—furtive, burning, curious looks. Kate pulled out her paperwork from the last case they had closed, McGee got to work on tracing e-mails for another they were working on, and DiNozzo pretended to be busy while he blatantly spied on Gibbs from behind his computer.

The little girl looked Kate's way again and Kate smiled brightly, lifting her hand and waving.

The child turned away and grabbed Gibbs insistently. She made a sign to him with her fingers and Gibbs looked up, his gaze going straight to Kate. The female agent looked surprised and stopped smiling, stunned. She didn't know sign language; she didn't know what had been said—and she didn't think she'd ever seen a girl so young use that form of communication.

Gibbs cleared his throat and nodded. He pointed at Kate.

"Safe," he said gruffly.

Kate gave him a confused look; the little girl turned, folding one leg under her, and looked at Kate more closely. Gibbs watched her and grinned. Kate looked at Gibbs uncertainly and decided she might benefit from asking what was going on—but DiNozzo beat her to it.

"Who's the kid, boss?" he blurted out, straightening up at his desk and peering insistently across the bullpen.

Gibbs turned a silent glare on the senior agent and DiNozzo hunkered down a little, looking apologetic. The phone on Gibbs' desk rang and he picked it up nonchalantly; the little girl turned to look at DiNozzo, her attention caught by his voice.

"Gibbs."

"Autopsy is immaculate," Ducky said brightly, after Gibbs' customary curt greeting. "There are no bodies in sight. Will you bring the little one down now?"

Gibbs answered in the affirmative and hung up. He stood and pushed his chair in, but the movement immediately panicked his daughter and she started to whine, giving him a terrified look as if he might leave her alone in the strange new place with these people she didn't know who _stared_ at her.

She reached up her hands to him and he picked her up easily. He ignored the stares he was getting from his team, crouched behind his desk, and handed Madeleine her fluffy stuffed duck and her no-spill sippy cup.

She held onto both and hugged his neck with them, hiding her face from the people who were still looking at her.

"Quit staring," Gibbs ordered in a firm tone. "You're scaring her," he growled.

Immediately, the team averted their eyes, and Gibbs marched out of the bullpen, the fluffy yellow duck toy bouncing against his back as he headed for the elevator. When he was out of sight and earshot, DiNozzo looked around at his colleagues in wide-eyed consternation.

"That was the weirdest thing that's ever happened at NCIS," he announced solemnly.

From the looks on McGee's and Kate's faces, it was evident that they agreed.

* * *

><p>Madeleine looked at Gibbs seriously as he took her in the elevator down to Ducky's domain. She frowned, simply staring at him pointedly—very like how Jenny used to do when she was attempting for force him to speak first. Gibbs raised his eyebrows at her and smiled a little. Madeleine pouted her lips.<p>

"Too many people, Daddy," she said.

He looked apologetic.

"It won't be so bad after a few days," he comforted. "You got used to Mom's people," he reminded her. "Ziva, and Eli, and Haswari," he listed. He left out Tali because he didn't want to trigger any sadness or fear. "You got to know Becca, and your teachers at school."

She just looked unconvinced.

"Ima say they safe," she said stubbornly.

Gibbs pointed to himself as he stepped off the elevator.

"_I_ say my team is safe," he said firmly. "I would trust your life to them," he added, lowering his voice playfully. "But don't tell them I said that."

He tilted his head at her, stopping outside of autopsy to try and perk her up—reassure her.

"Emmy, if I say they're safe, they're safe," he said gently. "You can still be shy, but no one here will hurt you. You just trust me, okay?"

"Aba," she whined petulantly. "I don't know you," she snapped at him. He blinked stoically and adjusted her weight, pressing a kiss to the side of her forehead. He mumbled a quiet soothing word and walked into autopsy, hoping that maybe a meeting with the doctor would help him out.

Ducky stood up from his desk almost immediately, a wide, welcoming smile on his face. Gibbs waited for the automatic doors to swing shut tightly behind him before he walked over to one of the metal slabs, eyeing it suspiciously.

"I have sterilized them, Jethro, there is no cause for concern," Ducky said lightly. "She will not understand what's been on them, anyhow."

"She doesn't need anymore trauma, Duck," Gibbs said dryly, tilting his head at his daughter. He put his hand on the metal table and patted it gently. "You want to stand up here?" he asked quietly. Her eyes followed his hand and she complied after a moment, letting him set her down on the table.

She used both arms to wrap herself around the stuffed animal and stood staring at Ducky. Ducky beamed at her and held his hands out.

"You, my dear, have Jennifer written all over you," he said. "My god, Jethro, she's _exquisite_!" Ducky complimented.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"Jen thinks she looks like me," he said.

Ducky narrowed his eyes. He pointed vaguely at Madeleine's nose and her mouth.

"Yes, that I can see—here," he gestured at features on her face. "Here, too—and I suppose when she gets angry those brows mimic yours," he murmured. Ducky opened his palm and held it to Madeleine calmly. "May I shake your hand, little one?" he asked.

Gibbs rested his hand on Madeleine's shoulder and reached out to tap Ducky's hand. He made the sign that indicated Ducky was safe, and then said the word gruffly in her ear. She unfolded her arms a little, and then paused, looking at her sippy cup and stuffed animal with a frown.

Gibbs took the cup and set it by her feet so her hand was free.

Madeleine placed her hand in Ducky's, and he pressed it between his gently, smiling at her warmly.

"Hello," Ducky greeted. "My name is Ducky. I know your mother and father quite well," he said earnestly.

Madeleine looked at him uncertainly for a minute.

"Quack," she said suddenly. She held up her stuffed animal and squeezed it; it imitated the noise she had just made. "Quack, quack," she informed Ducky seriously. He chuckled, raising his eyebrows in amusement.

"Quack indeed," he agreed. "Though you know," he said conspiratorially, releasing her hand and leaning forward on his elbows, "ducks are most often freckled brown, with bright splashes of green."

Madeleine just looked at him with mild curiosity and handed him the fluffy yellow duck.

She made it _quack_ at him and then said something simply in Hebrew.

"Ah, Jethro?" Ducky asked, inquiring for a translation. Gibbs looked wary. He tilted his head around and arched an eyebrow at Madeleine. He asked her to repeat what she'd said in English, but she just shrugged and pointed to the toy.

"Colour," she said after a moment.

"She must've said 'yellow'," Gibbs muttered.

"Speaking of colours," Ducky said fondly. He turned and bustled to his desk. Madeleine sat down primly on the autopsy table and picked up her cup. Gibbs leaned down on his elbows next to her and she looked at him in a way that might be called exasperated. He grinned at her, and Ducky came back holding goodies in his hands.

"I thought," Ducky said, speaking directly to Madeleine. "I thought you might get very bored watching your father work all day, _Mademoiselle,"_ he said gallantly. "I took the liberty of purchasing you some things to entertain yourself with."

Gibbs widened his eyes and opened his mouth, pointing at the colouring books and the brand new box of sharp crayons in Ducky's hands.

"What do you think about that, Emmy?" he asked seriously. "Look at all of those pages," he said, running his finger over the edge of the book.

Madeleine quietly reached out to imitate his movements, looking at Ducky timidly. She pushed aside her stuffed animal and sippy cup and hesitantly reached to take the colouring books and crayons from him.

"May I have them?" she asked quietly.

"Yes you may, my dear, they are just for you," Ducky replied kindly. She beamed at him shyly and reached out to pull the items into her lap. She blushed and then reached forward to pat his hand.

"_Toda_," she said sincerely. She put her hand against her chest. "_Hashem sheli_ Maddah-lynn," she told him carefully.

"Ah," Ducky said, nodding with encouragement. "Would that be… 'My name is Madeleine'?" he asked.

She looked confused, and pointed at him.

"No, Aba said you Ducky," she retorted. She narrowed her eyes, and then pointed back to herself. "_I _am Maddah-lynn."

Ducky chuckled, amused by her misunderstanding of his translation.

"It is very nice to meet you, Madeleine," he said, patting her gently on the head. She reached up to smooth the spot, looking a little more comfortable.

"Toda is 'thank you'," Gibbs said gruffly, not wanting Ducky to think his daughter was ungrateful. Ducky nodded and helped Madeleine open a colouring book to the first page. She chose a green crayon and began silently shading some of the drawings. Gibbs smiled at her and looked up at Ducky.

"How are things going?" Ducky asked over Madeleine's head, lowering his voice.

Gibbs shrugged, choosing his words carefully.

"She reverts to Hebrew," he said. "I think it's how she comforts herself. She hasn't slept well. She misses Jen like hell," he paused, swallowing. "She's been through a lot."

"There was a death in Israel?" Ducky asked, trying to remember the details. "Someone close to her?"

"A girl who'd been a babysitter a lot," Gibbs answered. "Tali David," he murmured. "Her name was one of Emmy's first words."

"Oh, my," Ducky sighed, shaking his head in regret. "She seems timid," he remarked. "Not entirely uncommon for young children, but it seems you had to allow her to interact with me?"

"Jenny trained her to be pretty paranoid about strangers," Gibbs responded. "She needs to be given a sign and a word that tells her someone is safe, and she's still cautious."

"I imagine all of these unknown people are frightening her something awful."

"I'm trying to take it slow," Gibbs grumbled. He rubbed his jaw, watching Madeleine colour for a minute. "She's taking it in stride," he decided hesitantly.

"Will you be bringing her around often?" Ducky inquired.

"Have to," Gibbs said bluntly. "I want her comfortable with me before I try to ease her into pre-school," he said firmly. "I've got to take her to Stillwater," he added grimly.

Ducky's brows went up.

"That is a big step," he noted. "Stillwater? Where your father lives?"

Gibbs nodded curtly.

"He'd tan my hide if he found out she was here and he didn't know about her, Duck," Gibbs said, rolling his eyes. "I've got to have somewhere to take her if her safety's threatened," he added. Ducky just nodded with understanding, tilting his head to look at Madeleine again.

Madeleine traded in her green crayon for a purple one and sighed, frowning as she tried to decide what to start colouring next.

Ducky, after a moment, smirked wryly and lifted an eyebrow at Gibbs.

"Has she met Miss Sciuto yet?" he asked.

Gibbs glared.

"Abby knows I have her," he answered carefully. "I don't want her scaring Emmy," he added bluntly.

"Oh, Jethro, I'm sure she can control herself," Ducky said flippantly.

Gibbs started to blow him off, but the ringing of his cell phone cut him off. He squeezed Madeleine's arm gently and walked away a few steps to answer, turning his back on Ducky and his daughter.

"Uh, Boss, we have a case," DiNozzo said uncertainly.

"Where?" Gibbs asked shortly.

"Columbia Heights," Tony answered immediately.

Gibbs turned and glanced at Madeleine. He couldn't leave her with Ducky—it was too soon, and he didn't think she'd trust her father again if he left her with people she didn't know. It was absolutely impossible to take a pre-schooler to a crime scene, _particularly_ one in a neighborhood as dangerous as Columbia Heights.

He swore silently and grit his teeth.

"Get on it, DiNozzo," he said. "Go without me."

"Um."

"That's an order."

"Um, okay," DiNozzo said.

Gibbs hung up before he could hear any more argument and turned back, holding his phone against his head in annoyance. Ducky gave him an apologetic look, but lifted his shoulders as if to say _look on the bright side_.

"With the team in the field, Jethro, it might be the best time to introduce Abby to the little one," he said pragmatically.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes, considering the thought cautiously. He decided Ducky was probably right; with no one to interrupt and probably a few hours for her to adjust, now was the best time for Madeleine to get closely acquainted with Ducky and Abby.

Gibbs flipped his cell phone open, and punched in the extension number for Abby's lab.

* * *

><p>"Abby," Gibbs greeted cautiously, standing directly in front of her and blocking her access to autopsy. She clasped her hands, bounced, and tried to dart past him; Gibbs grabbed her shoulders gently and stopped her, giving her a serious look. "Take it easy, Abs."<p>

"Gibbs, I've been waiting for this moment since before I knew I was waiting for this moment!" she squealed in a hushed, pained voice. She tried to swat him away, but he held fast, giving her a withering look. He waited for her to calm down just a little, and loosened his grip.

"She's skittish, Abs," Gibbs warned. "She's overwhelmed and scared. Keep your voice down and be calm."

Abby nodded eagerly, her two pigtails swinging perkily just over her ears. Gibbs frowned, unconvinced of her ability to remain docile, but let her creep past him anyway, reaching up to rub his temples tiredly. He turned around, listening to her platforms scuffle along the floor, and followed her.

"My dear, you have a visitor," he heard Ducky say pleasantly.

Gibbs took his place behind Madeleine at the metal slab and watched critically as his daughter looked up and followed Ducky's kind pointing until her little green eyes fell on Abby. Her eyes widened to emerald saucers and she stared at the unfamiliar lab tech, her mouth a curious, small O shape and her colouring hand frozen in astonishment.

Madeleine had never seen a creature the likes of Abby Sciuto, and Gibbs grinned, amused by her befuddled reaction.

"This, little Madeleine, is Abby Sciuto," Ducky introduced whimsically.

Abby waved, beaming, and clearly trying to contain her bubbly, overzealous personality. She inched a little closer and some chains on her jingled; Madeleine's eyes fell to the fashionable dog collar and then the heavy, studded black leather skirt Abby had dressed herself in today. The little girl dropped her crayon and turned to look at Gibbs earnestly.

She whined at him quietly in Hebrew and Gibbs lifted his hand, making the sign for _safe_ and then repeating the word in Hebrew and in English. Madeleine swallowed and hesitantly turned around, still looking uncertainly at Abby. In a stroke of genius, Abby smiled sweetly, lifted her hands, and spoke to Madeleine with a few short, simple words.

Madeleine smiled shyly and lifted her own hands. She answered; they exchanged greetings, and then Madeleine laughed softly, turning and looking at Gibbs again. He nodded encouragingly and pointed to Abby.

"Shake hands with Abby, Maddie," he said gently.

Madeleine stood up—with Ducky's gallant hand steadying her—and walked towards Abby a little bashfully, still obviously fascinated by and unsure of the Goth's vivid attire. Madeleine murmured something in Hebrew and Gibbs cleared his throat.

"English, Madeleine," he reminded her, a little exasperated. "You have to speak English."

Madeleine reached out and tapped Abby's hand tentatively.

"I shake hands with you?" she asked politely.

"Yes, you may," Abby answered crinkling her nose and extending her hand. Madeleine squeezed her fingers, smiling a little wider, and giggled. Abby giggled back, imitating the child almost perfectly—and she squealed, clapping her hand over her mouth apologetically and then crouching down a little to Madeleine's level. "I have been waiting to meet you for so long!"

Madeleine looked at Abby placidly and drew her hand back, cocking her head. She reached out and curiously grasped one of Abby's pigtails, running her fingers through the silky black hair. Madeleine pursed her lips and studied the style, intrigued.

"Do you like my dog ears?" Abby asked amiably.

"Doggy ears?" Madeleine repeated, caught off guard. "Piggy tails," she corrected seriously, tugging lightly on Abby's hair.

Abby reached up and grabbed her own hair, twirling each ponytail playfully and pouting her lips out dramatically.

"But pigs only have one tail, and puppies have two ears!" she said sweetly. "I like to call them dog ears. I like dogs!" she said, bouncing a little. "_Woof_," she barked playfully, making a growly face at Madeleine.

Madeleine laughed, clapping her hands together.

"I like dogs," she said earnestly. "Aba will get me one," she informed Abby seriously, flashing an innocent, toothy grin at Gibbs. He smiled back; ignoring the look he was getting from Ducky. He was going to have to get a puppy now; there was no way out of it.

Abby nodded sincerely.

"I bet he will," she agreed. "I bet your Daddy gives you everything you want, doesn't he?"

Madeleine seemed to think about it.

"Daddy tries," she answered smugly, and then reached out, oblivious to Abby's gleeful smirk. Madeleine touched a heavy, elaborate cross necklace around Abby's throat and cooed at it in Hebrew, looking up at Abby curiously. "Not Jewish?" she asked.

Abby looked down and touched the cross.

"Oh, I just think it's pretty!" she exclaimed. "It's from New Orleans, a magical, beautiful place in the land of Louisiana," she told Madeleine seriously. "Would you like to wear it for today?"

Madeleine shook her head.

"No, thank you, I have colours," she said politely, pointing at the gifts Ducky had given her. She patted Abby's cross fondly and smiled, tapping her heart. "I'm Jewish," she informed Abby.

"Really?" Abby asked conversationally, leaning forward on the slab.

Gibbs raised his eyebrows. Ducky smiled, mildly surprised, and looked over at Gibbs, lowering his voice and turning away from Abby and Madeleine's slowly strengthening conversation.

"Are you and Jennifer raising her Jewish?" he asked, amused.

Gibbs rolled his eyes.

"She's three, she'll think she's a kitten tomorrow," he mumbled, shaking his head. Madeleine probably thought she was Jewish because Tali David would have swayed her a little in that direction, and the schools and classes she attended adhered to Jewish culture and kosher. He hadn't thought about instilling a religion in Madeleine since Jenny had decided against baptizing her.

They only thing indicative of a religion that they did with her was celebrate Easter and Christmas.

Gibbs felt a pang of guilt as he watched his daughter—his daughter who spoke Hebrew better than English, and apparently thought she was Jewish, probably Israeli—interact with Abby, feeling once again like he and Jenny had been unbelievably selfish in the way they'd tried to work her into their lives without disrupting their precious jobs.

"I forgot your name," Madeleine said suddenly, frowning. "Oops."

"It's Abby," Abby said pleasantly. "It's easy to remember, just four letters! A-B-B-Y," she spelled out, showing Madeleine with sign language as well.

"Abby," repeated Madeleine, beaming. She pointed to herself. "Maddah-lynn Jenny Gibbs," she introduced proudly. Gibbs snorted, grinned and came around to sweep her off the table, picking her up and raising an eyebrow at her.

"Madeleine _Jane_," he said pointedly.

"_Jane_," she mimicked.

"Jane," he agreed, nodding his head. "Jenny is Mom's name," he added, speaking more to Abby to clear up the confusion.

"I know!" Abby said brightly. "I've spoken to her." She didn't remind Gibbs that she had snooped into Jenny's files and found out about their prior partnership; there was no need to bring up _that_ little bit of sleuthing. Abby beamed at Madeleine, tip-toing closer. She looked the child in the eye hopefully.

"Can I give you a hug, Madeleine Jane?" she asked politely. "I love hugs, and I want you to like me!"

Madeleine seemed to think about it, shrinking closer to Gibbs a little uncertainly.

"Daddy are stranger hugs okay?" she murmured carefully.

He smiled.

"Abby is not a stranger," he told her firmly. "Hugs are okay."

Madeleine held her arms out, and Abby hugged her tightly, wrinkling her nose and kissing Madeleine's with it in a nose-to-nose cuddle. Madeleine giggled, and when Abby released her, she looked much more comfortable and at ease. Gibbs relaxed; it was a relief to know that she could warm up to at least some of the people here. He almost dreaded taking her back to the squad room when the team came back; they didn't seem to understand how to act around a shy kid.

"Gibbs," Abby squealed quietly. "I love her!"

Madeleine turned and looked at him.

"Gibbs," she said, testing it out. He blinked, surprised. "Gibbs," she said again, and laughed at his reaction.

He turned to pick up her colouring book and crayons, tucking them under his arm to take up to the interview room where they could have some alone time for her to continue getting used to her surroundings.

"You don't call me that," he said, giving her look and shaking his head playfully.

"_Ken_," she insisted impishly, switching to Hebrew. "_Ken_, like Mama does," she informed him, poking him in the shoulder.

"Mama does what?" he asked absently, saying a quick goodbye to Ducky and only half listening to Madeleine speak. He turned towards the door, stepping past Abby, when Madeleine answered his half-hearted question.

"Mama does, '_Gibbs, don't do that'_!" Madeleine trilled, mimicking Jenny almost perfectly.

Her vice didn't have that irritating, arrogant tone to it—but she sounded like her mother. Gibbs stopped in his tracks and stared at her. Abby snickered, and stifled it hastily with a cough. Gibbs shot her a glare, and let Madeleine say a shy farewell to her before he carried his daughter out of autopsy.

He called for the elevator and looked down at her, mock stern, giving her a silly glare until she snickered and hid her face with her hands. She peeked at him through her fingers and lowered her hands, sighing. She put a hand on her hip and tossed her head.

"Okay, we go home now," she said impatiently.

Gibbs swallowed as the elevator doors opened, because he knew she was talking about Israel and Jenny. She hadn't been here long enough to even think of considering his house her home. He bit back a groan of frustration and distress, and pushed the button for the main floor.

There was nothing to change the cold hard fact that it was going to be hard couple of months before Madeleine adjusted.

* * *

><p>Tony DiNozzo covertly peered around Gibbs' shoulder at the mysterious kid sitting on the Boss's desk, zoning out of the case conversation and narrowing his eyes curiously at her. Gibbs had cleared a space and she was sitting there with her legs crossed and her hair tucked behind her ears, quietly colouring in her book. She had been doing that shyly since he, Kate, and McGee returned from the crime scene.<p>

Gibbs hadn't made any reference to the little girl other than when he'd earlier told them to stop staring at her. They didn't know her name, and they didn't know who she was. Tony scrutinized her bowed head closely, glancing slyly at the back of Gibbs' head. The kid's hair was an auburn reddish-brown colour. Maybe that had been Gibbs' hair colour before he went grey. Or maybe Gibbs had always been grey.

Regardless, Tony DiNozzo was desperate to find out who the little girl was. Niece? Stray orphan? Love child he just found out about?

The choices were endless and intriguing.

Gibbs' hand collided with the back of his head and Tony squawked, jumping and straightening up immediately. He had the good grace to look abashed as Gibbs fixed him with a warning, vicious glare. McGee had stopped talking, and Kate was holding the clicker, evidently finished reading Gibbs in on the details of the case.

"Start with interviews," Gibbs said gruffly. "Commanding officer, friends, sister, wife," he listed. He didn't really need to be telling them this, but at the same time, he didn't need the current chaos his life had just come into to result in them thinking he wasn't in charge anymore.

There was a tearing sound, and the four of them looked over to the desk.

"Gibbs," the little girl said in a small voice, a smile that she'd been wearing fading when she noticed they were all looking at her. She shrank back a little, closing her mouth. Gibbs turned towards her without a word and blocked them from her view.

Madeleine presented him with the page she'd been colouring and grinned shyly. He accepted the gift and returned to his place near the team, holding it out and admiring the myriad of colours making up the elephant. He shot Madeleine a small smile and nodded, giving her the sign for 'thank you'.

"Go on, DiNozzo," Gibbs said shortly.

"Uh, right, well," DiNozzo stammered. "Ducky started the autopsy right away, he'll probably have a cause of death by tonight, he's not that busy," DiNozzo kept talking, still half-focused on the kid on Gibbs' desk.

Within about five minutes, the tearing sound happened again.

"Gibbs," Madeleine said again, wriggling the paper at him. He took it from her, made the same sign—though this time he looked slightly annoyed. McGee cleared his throat, and Kate just smiled in amusement, her eyes flicking from the child to Gibbs.

"Get to work," Gibbs ordered gruffly; nodding once DiNozzo had finally finished. He looked down at the two colouring book pages in his hand and jerked his head at his desk. "I'll go over your open cases," he muttered, surprising them a little.

It was almost _nice_ of Gibbs to take the brunt of frustration, open casework—but then again, he needed to catch up. He was in the dark when it came to most of the work they'd done while he was in Israel.

The team started to disperse, but McGee stood still. He swallowed bravely, and cleared his throat again.

"Uh, Boss?" He asked.

Gibbs glared at him. McGee pointed at Madeleine.

"What's her name?"

DiNozzo stared at the back of McProbie's head in disbelief. Prying into the Boss's private affairs like that? Who did he think he was? They had already been glared into hell this morning for just asking who the kid _was_.

Gibbs gave McGee an intent look and then turned, catching the little girl's attention. He made a sign at her, probably her name, since it was a lot of sign language letters. She answered, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Do you want to tell him your name?" he asked seriously.

She looked up apprehensively and then shook her head.

"_Lo, toda_," she answered in soft Hebrew.

Gibbs looked back at McGee pointedly.

"Um," McGee said, flushing. "What did she say?"

"No," Gibbs answered bluntly.

McGee nodded uncertainly and turned for his desk.

"Is she speaking…some other language?" DiNozzo asked. He started off confident, but then lowered his voice; Gibbs wasn't sure if he was asking, or just timidly thinking out loud. Gibbs sat down at his desk, laying Madeleine's drawings on his keyboard. He intended to ignore DiNozzo, but Kate, surprisingly, answered.

"It's Hebrew, Tony," she said in her usual snippy tone.

"How was I supposed to know that?"

Kate ignored him and looked at Gibbs for confirmation.

"Right?" she asked.

He just nodded, interested to know how she'd known that.

"Gibbs," Madeleine hissed again, and he turned towards her, lowering his voice. He picked her up and placed her on his lap.

"Stop calling me that," he said gruffly in her ear. She smiled and curled up, laughing quietly as his breath tickled her skin. She handed him another page of the colouring book and pointed to the large, fluffy cat she had coloured and given vibrant orange fur.

"Meow, meow," she whispered quietly.

He nodded in agreement and spread the three pages out in front of him, making a show of admiring them. The team was diligent about looking directly at their work, but he knew they were itching with curiosity about Madeleine.

It wasn't that he didn't want them to know she was his daughter; he just didn't know how to introduce that without having to field off a bunch of undesirable questions about Jenny. He was more concerned about Madeleine's comfort than his team's curiosity—that, and it was slightly entertaining to watch them flail around in utter confusion.

"Are you hungry?" Gibbs asked, checking the time.

She shrugged, looking around curiously and then back at him when she caught the eye of DiNozzo. She frowned.

"Lunch means nap," she said suspiciously.

He grinned.

"You don't have to nap unless you're sleepy," he murmured. "Abby has a nice futon, though," he bribed slightly.

"I don't know," Madeleine answered, sighing. She splayed her hand over the pictures she'd drawn and then looked back, pointing to the corkboard behind his desk. "Hang 'em up."

"I will," he answered seriously. His phone rang and he answered it, gently stopping her from twirling the cord.

"Agent Gibbs?" asked Morrow's secretary pleasantly. "The Director can meet with you now," she said.

"Be right up," he answered gruffly, hanging up.

Gibbs stood up, hitching Madeleine on his hip securely, and pushed his chair in. He turned and decided to grab her something from the vending machines to hold her over while he was meeting with Morrow. He had to let the director know he was going to have Madeleine here frequently.

"Aba," Madeleine said conversationally, her eyes on Kate. "Aba, where we go?"

"To see the director," he answered.

Madeleine gasped.

"ELI!" she shrieked happily, stunning the team. Gibbs gave her an apologetic look and shook his head, trying to explain to her—again—that Eli was another person who was miles and miles away; someone she would probably never see again.

* * *

><p>DiNozzo nearly flew out of his chair the moment the elevator doors closed. He thrust his finger out accusingly and glared demandingly at his teammates, baffled once again by Gibbs' behavior—the boss had just <em>left<em> for the day, at _six o'clock_.

"What the hell is going on?" he asked loudly, throwing his hands up.

"You can't expect him to work as late as usual, Tony, he has a child with him," Kate pointed out blandly.

DiNozzo glared and prowled around his desk, sitting on the edge of it and holding his arms out. He beckoned with his fingers greedily and gave McGee and Kate pointed looks.

"Theories, guesses, opinions, _go_," he said. Both of them looked uncertain and thoughtful; McGee was the first to pipe up.

"Maybe it's his daughter," he suggested, shrugging cautiously.

"Aw, come on McGee," scoffed Tony. "The little tyke called him 'Gibbs', she speaks a different language, she's not his," he said confidently. DiNozzo shook his head. "You really think Gibbs could get a daughter by us?"

"Possibly," Kate said, though she looked skeptical. Tony glared at her, and she raised an eyebrow. "He periodically takes vacations, usually around family-oriented holidays," she pointed out logically. "That little girl could very well be his daughter."

Tony whipped his head around to look at McGee and raised his eyebrows hesitantly.

"You think, McGee?" he asked curiously.

"I dunno, maybe," McGee said slowly. "She looks like him a little."

Tony shook his head, resisting the notion.

"Where's she been all these years, then? Who's her Mom—_where's_ her mom all of a sudden? Why does Gibbs have her?"

"Gibbs has made it clear it isn't our business."

DiNozzo glared at Kate, and grumbled. He folded his arms, looking at Gibbs' desk moodily and mulling over the days events in his head. He had been on Gibbs' team, by his side, for three and a half years. There was no _way_ Gibbs had been hiding a kid for that long—and if he had, it bothered Tony a little to find out about it like this. He had always thought Gibbs trusted him.

"Aw, Tony," Kate crooned, puckering her lips. "Poor thing, Gibbs didn't let you in on his secret."

"_Hey_," snapped DiNozzo. "We don't know it's his kid. It could be—" but honestly, when Tony tried to think of another explanation, he came up short. Gibbs had said before that he was an only child; she couldn't be a niece. The idea that Gibbs was babysitting for a friend was laughable, and he was too traditional to have decided to adopt a kid.

McGee snapped his fingers suddenly, grabbing Tony's attention.

"Abby knows," he said. "She has to, she knew where he used to disappear to," he reminded them eagerly. "Abby _knows_."

"McGee, use your Goth-wooing skills to drag it out of her!" Tony insisted, turning on McGee like the cat that had spotted a particularly vulnerable, tasty mouse. McGee looked nervous at the very idea of trying to get Abby to tell him a secret, and Kate rolled her eyes.

"Tony, it isn't our business," she snapped primly. "Let it go."

DiNozzo glared at her over his shoulder.

"For your information, _Katie_," he snapped back, just to annoy her, "It is our _business_. At least, I consider it _mine_. Gibbs has been my partner for three years now. If he's got a daughter all of a sudden, I've got to learn to have her back same as his."

* * *

><p>Jenny sank down to the floor of her hollow apartment, holding her wrist shakily to her forehead. It was a miserably hot night, she was tired, she felt ill, and she felt alone. Her things were in boxes. What was worse, Madeleine's things were in boxes—boxes that were sealed and ready to be sent to Jethro—because Madeleine lived with Jethro now, thousands of miles away, in the United States.<p>

She had tried to pack all of Madeleine's things at one time, enabling her to move on to her things as a way to take her mind off of it—but it was useless. Her daughter's toys, shoes, clothing, drawings—her daughters things—were jumping out at her from in every drawer and under every piece of furniture and it was silently killing her.

She asked herself, was this how Jethro felt, all these years? All these years he'd barely been able to see Madeleine, and had always been forced to leave her—was this how he had felt? Empty, bitter, hurt, frustrated—and if this is how it felt to lose Madeleine in a temporary way, how had Jethro _ever_ been able to bear the pain of losing Kelly for a _lifetime?_

She wiped sweat off of her forehead, stretching out one leg and kicking a half-packed box of her own shoes away from her. She dreaded moving to Cairo. Mossad was a volatile environment, but it was one she knew and had come to fiercely admire, if not love. She was attached to Ziva, she even had a fondness for Eli, and to leave now—so soon after Tali David's death—seemed cold; it was undesirable.

She felt she had a responsibility to Ziva. She and Ziva trusted each other; they shared a close, unspoken bond of strong friendship, and Jenny knew Ziva had only ever had something like that with her sister. Her sweet, lively, innocent, compassionate, eighteen-year-old, _dead_ sister. Tali dead, and Madeleine whisked a continent away in a matter of two weeks; it was more than traumatic, it was devastating.

For so long, Jenny had bemoaned the struggles and inconveniences of motherhood; she'd silently berated herself for being so damn irresponsible in getting pregnant in the first place. She had loved and nurtured Madeleine, yet there had always been that nagging feeling that her life would be different, easier, if she didn't have a child—and now that Madeleine was gone, there was an unmistakable, gaping hole in her world, and she couldn't imagine her life without her daughter making it hectic.

Madeleine Jane, that _accident_ baby, the most beautiful disaster to ever happen to Jenny Shepard.

She hadn't spoken to Madeleine or Jethro since they had left; he had called when he landed in the States, but she had been unable to answer the phone—she had been unable to face the raw reality of the situation. She hated herself for being such a coward, but she couldn't trust herself to speak to her daughter, she was afraid she'd break down at the sound of Madeleine's voice, she was afraid she'd cry—and crying would only scare Madeleine. It would distress Jethro.

She couldn't do it, not yet. She didn't have the strength.

She missed her so much. She had never considered how integrated into every moment of her life Madeleine was until Madeleine was gone. Jenny felt like she'd had the breath knocked out of her, and she didn't feel like she'd be getting rid of that feeling any time soon. She had to force herself to face this turn of events—this choice that she had made solely for Madeleine's safety—and accept it. She had to force herself through her Cairo assignment. As dark a thought as it was to know she'd likely have no opportunity to see Madeleine again until she was finished with Cairo, it was also the _only_ ray of light that would push her to excel at her job and secure the promotion that would put her in the states _permanently_.

Jenny rubbed her cheeks and sighed, blowing hair off of her forehead. She should eat something; she was half-starved. She'd be settling into her apartment in Cairo in a week. It was so much change in so little time—and here she'd never though anything could be as tumultuous as those few weeks when she'd first found out she was pregnant.

She rubbed her knee, comforting herself, and then leaned forward, pressing her cheek to her bare skin and closing her eyes. She bit her lip and thought about Madeleine. She wondered if she was frightened in her new home, or if Jethro was distracting her and keeping her happy. She wondered if Madeleine had seen the boat yet, or met Noemi—or Ducky. In a moment of radical regret, she wondered if perhaps she should resign from NCIS, marry Jethro, and spend the rest of her life curled up on a couch watching cartoons with him and Madeleine.

But wondering was getting her nowhere, and it was only making the void worse.

She needed to get up, get back to packing—get to work. She was sick of it, though, right now she just didn't feel like doing it. She felt like losing it. She was alone, it was night, she was free of responsibilities for the moment.

She was justified in losing it, she tried to convince herself.

Jenny swallowed and wiped her cheek on her knee, lifting her head a little; she jumped, startled, her heart slamming into her ribcage, when she found Ziva standing in the doorway, silhouetted in moonlight and dim lamps. Ziva stood there silently, her eyes unreadable and fixed on Jenny. It was impossible for the redhead to hide the breakdown she was having, and she just looked up at this woman she'd come to know as partner and friend with weakened, sad green eyes—as if begging Ziva to understand a moment of tears.

Ziva swept forward gracefully, almost at a run, and deftly went down on her knees close to Jenny's bent leg. The younger woman leaned forward, her thick, curly hair falling over her shoulder messily, and she took Jenny's shoulders and pulled her forward into a tight, unpredictable, uncharacteristic hug. Jenny hardly hesitated; she hugged Ziva back earnestly, crying softly into the Israeli warrior's shoulder, and drawing strength from the Hebrew prayer that Ziva whispered in her ear.

* * *

><p>Gibbs held his cell phone to his ear in frustration, warily checking the hall again to make sure Noemi and Madeleine had not returned from their tour of Jenny's townhouse. He was attempting, again, to get ahold of Jenny so Madeleine could hear her voice, but he didn't want to tell Madeleine just in case he couldn't get her on the phone.<p>

It was a damn good thing he hadn't mentioned it, considering he had tried calling her three times today and was getting nowhere.

She wouldn't be travelling to Cairo and settling in until next week, and she wasn't involved in any Mossad operations currently—he didn't understand why she wasn't answering her cell phone or the apartment phone. He would have thought she'd been calling him nonstop since he'd landed, just to check in, but he'd thought wrong—she hadn't even been available when he'd called after the flight.

The phone rang unanswered again, and Gibbs snapped it shut, glaring at the object venomously. He turned and looked around Jenny's study, taking in unchanged, eerily familiar set up of the room. He hadn't allowed Madeleine in here; he didn't know of it was child proof or if Jenny wanted _anyone_ to have access to the study. Madeleine was upstairs with Noemi, being introduced to the Master bedroom and—

"_Senor_?" Noemi called from the hallway.

He tucked his phone in his pocket and left the study, heading towards her voice. She was standing on the stairs, bending over the banister, and smiled at him, tilting her head.

"She is asking for you, _Senor_," she said, gesturing towards one of the rooms.

Gibbs nodded and jogged up the stairs and turned right, away from Jenny's room, and walked towards the house's smaller bedroom. According to Noemi, it had once been Jenny's childhood bedroom—but Jenny slept in the Master, now, and some time ago, Gibbs had spent his free hours turning the small bedroom into a place for Madeleine, in the optimistic state of mind that she'd one day live here to appreciate it.

He walked into the room, where Madeleine was crouched by the closet looking through some old toys of Jenny's from the attic.

"Maddie," he said, approaching her.

"Aba," she answered, standing up and prancing towards him. She held a worn but well loved Raggedy Anne doll and looked at him curiously. "No-mee say this is my room," she said, placing her hand on her hip. "Is it?"

Gibbs crouched down in front of her and put his hands on her sides, smirking.

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "I painted it up the same colour as your nursery in Israel, just like I'm going to fix you up a room in my house," he told her.

She smiled bashfully and buried her nose and mouth in Raggedy Anne's hair.

"But Daddy, how did you know I come be with you?" she asked in wonder, her voicing going up in excitement.

He touched her cheek gently.

"I always wanted you with me, Madeleine," he said seriously. "It just didn't always work like that."

"I know," she said smugly, wagging her finger at him. "Work," she said firmly. "Work, work, work, like Mama, like Zee," she stopped and tilted her head. She didn't mention Tali, though Gibbs sensed she had been about to. He smiled apologetically and nodded, agreeing with her assessment. Madeleine wriggled away and looked about the room with a smile, and he was glad to see some contentment on her face.

She walked over to the bed, and leaned forward, laying her head on it.

"It's big," she said, blinking at him with wide eyes. "We sleep here tonight?"

"We can sleep here tonight," he answered. "Daddy has to go get some things from his house, first. Do you want to stay with Noemi and help her cook some dinner?"

Madeleine frowned. She jumped away from the bed and darted over to him, grabbing his hand.

"No," she said, raising her voice insistently. "No, I want to go with you," she said. She stomped her foot. "Don't leave me."

He picked her up, Raggedy Anne doll and all, and nodded solemnly, looking her in the eye.

"I'm not going to leave you, Emmy," he said seriously. He turned towards the door, turned the light off, and kissed her temple, rubbing her back comfortingly. "Emmy, you understand Mama didn't leave you?" he asked hesitantly. She shrugged and laid her head on his shoulder, looking a little confused. "She wants you to be safe, and you're safe here."

"I not want to leave," Madeleine whispered. "She made me."

Gibbs frowned, unsure what to say—unsure how to handle the situation. He didn't know if Madeleine was mad at Jenny, or if she missed her and didn't know how to phrase it, or if it was a bit of both. He thought it was a little precocious for her to start blaming Jenny for sending her to America, and he didn't want Jen to find out about it.

"It's not her fault, M," Gibbs soothed, stopping in the hall to get his keys and wallet. "I wanted you here with me," he admitted. It had been as much his decision as hers, after all. He could have easily refused to take custody of Madeleine. Madeleine just buried her head on his shoulder again, clutching the doll closer.

"Make her come here," she muttered.

Gibbs grinned.

"Been tryin' to get her here for years, honey," he said lightly, peering into the kitchen to tell Noemi he was leaving.

"You be back, _Senor_ Gibbs?"

"Yeah, I think I'm going to keep her here until I can get her room fixed up at my house," he answered gruffly. "I'm just going to pick up some things. It'll take half an hour."

"Si, okay, _Senor_," Noemi answered brightly. "I be finished with dinner then—you like enchiladas, _Senorita_?" she asked Madeleine, smiling kindly. "I make them not spicy."

Madeleine peeked at Noemi uncertainly.

"Like latkes," Gibbs said, tilting his head. "With cheese and sauce and beef."

"No pork, no kosher," Madeleine said quietly.

Gibbs rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

"She'll eat it, Noemi," he said confidently, waving.

He carried Madeleine out to the car for some more shuffling and moving around.

* * *

><p>Though Jenny knew he would be at her house often-acclimating Madeleine to the place as well as introducing her to Noemi and helping her to get comfortable with safe, familiar spaces-Gibbs was unsure if Jenny had considered the fact that they would be sleeping overnight, and thus that Gibbs would be sleeping in her bed. He didn't think she'd give a damn—he'd slept there before—but it still felt distinctly odd.<p>

He sat on the edge of the bed stiffly, tired, but not tired enough to go to attempt to sleep. His hands were restless; he wanted to work on the boat and work through the chaos in his head, but there was no basement or boat in Jenny's posh townhouse. He was trying to bring himself to crawl into her bed, alone, and not dwell on the still unsatisfactory state of their family.

There was so much he needed to do. He was overwhelmed. He had never really felt this out of a control of a situation before—not since Shannon and Kelly had died, and he'd been a helpless figure in the investigation.

It had been difficult to get Madeleine to sleep. She was afraid of falling out of the bed, she was afraid of the new house, she demanded he access Jenny for her, she resorted to asking for Ziva, and then she begged for the rocking horse that was still in Israel. He just did his best to diffuse the stressful situations and calm her down. At the expense of getting her to fall asleep, he had sacrificed any chance he might have at rest.

It wasn't even a comfort to sleep in Jenny's bed because, after nearly four years of her absence, it didn't really smell like her anymore.

Gibbs rubbed his forehead and got up, strolling into the bathroom to turn off the lights. He yanked back her expensive bedclothes and lay down stiffly, staring up at the ceiling uncomfortably. He was used to sleeping on his couch or on the basement floor, though he'd sometimes taken to his bed since he'd cleaned up his house after Madeleine's birth.

He didn't look forward to work tomorrow. Morrow was not thrilled at the prospect of having a three-year-old present at NCIS all days of the week, but Gibbs had no other choice at the moment. He _had_ to let Madeleine accept the idea of living here and of Gibbs as a primary, trusted caregiver before he could think of packing her off to daycare or even Noemi. Morrow understood that, though grudgingly.

Gibbs turned to his side and jammed his eyes closed, intent on forcing himself to go to sleep.

As it turned out, that was going to be impossible—he had barely been laying there in darkness ten minutes when he heard Madeleine in the hallway.

"Daddy?" her voice was muffled. "Daddy!" she shouted, panic creeping into her tone. He was out of bed in seconds, violently turning the lights on and wrenching Jenny's door open. "ABA!" she screamed, and he stepped out of the room just in time to see her sit down heavily on the top stair and put her head in her knees, covering her neck with her hands in distress.

He picked her up immediately and coaxed her to look at him, soothing her gently with murmured words.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "What's wrong, Emmy?" he pushed her tangled hair out of her eyes and wiped some tears away with his thumb, looking at her earnestly. "I'm right here."

She rubbed her eyes roughly and mumbled incoherently, managing to answer him through tearful hiccups.

"I woke up and I'm scared and I not know where I am and I not find you," she whimpered. "I want Mama," she moaned. "It's cold!" she added, throwing herself against him limply and dissolving into pitiful sobbing, the likes of which he hadn't heard since the explosion that had taken Tali's life.

He frowned, holding her tightly. She probably wasn't used to the heavy air conditioning here; the Israelis preferred fans and open windows—a balmy sort of dry heat saturation. Her pajamas were thin and made for hot summers. Gibbs continued to shush her quietly and started back towards her room.

She lifted her head to see where they were going and hit him in the shoulder.

"Madeleine," he snapped gently. "Do _not_ hit," he admonished.

"I not _want_ to sleep in there!" she protested forcefully, her eyes wide with fear. "No, _no_, Dada, I want stay with you," she whined, her lip trembling. She broke out into a stream of unintelligibly Hebrew and dug her nails and heels into him insistently.

He stopped in his tracks, looking at her tiredly, indecisive. Jenny didn't like letting Madeleine sleep with her, ever. She claimed it would result in her being skittish and not independent. But Jenny had never had to deal with a Madeleine who was this scared and confused by her surroundings.

Gibbs made the executive decision that some of Jenny's rules didn't matter so much anymore; he had custody of Madeleine now—he made the rules.

He brought her into Jenny's room, tucked her in, and sat up watching her calm down, intent on staying awake until she felt safe, and was fast asleep again.

* * *

><p>An exhausted, reticent three-year-old turned out not to be the worst thing that could have happened when it became apparent that Madeleine had allergies to about every kind of pollen drifting through DC in spring. It hadn't even occurred to Gibbs that the change in climate would mess with Madeleine's health but it had; she came down with the sniffles, itchy eyes, minor coughing—it was pitiful, and there wasn't much he could do but keep her subdued with mild children's allergy medicine.<p>

He knew she didn't feel good, and he knew she still missed her mother and spent the days under the impression that she was going home soon. He hated that he had to make her sit at work with him for hours with only a few things to entertain her, but he just had to get to the weekend before he could get to work on making this home a reality for her.

For now, it was towards the end of her fourth day at NCIS, and for the past two hours she had been eerily calm and silent, playing with toy ponies on the floor. Occasionally she sniffled or sneezed and asked politely for a tissue. The team had been glued to their desks and their paperwork for half the day; several cases had just been closed. Madeleine had spent some time in the lab with Abby, and had seen Ducky for a look into her allergies.

"Hey, Aba," Madeleine said quietly. She was suddenly standing at his knee, rubbing one eye tiredly. "I want to sit here," she said, patting is knee.

"Okay," he said, sliding his chair back and helping her climb up on his lap. She snuggled up unhappily to his chest and grabbed his shirt, clutching it in her fist and anchoring herself to him like she had when she was a baby. She sighed heavily and sniffled. "You feel okay?" he asked, pressing his hand to her forehead.

She nodded.

"Talk to Mama," she said in a small voice, letting her eyes drift half-closed. Gibbs frowned, annoyed at Jenny. He still hadn't been able to get her on the line, and Madeleine had at least come to accept that she'd only be interacting with her mother through the phone. Gibbs was a good hour or so away from ordering Abby to bring Ziva up on the videoconference so he could put a _hit_ on Jenny.

Gibbs just stroked her hair back and let her rest, turning back to his computer with an irritated look on his face. DiNozzo turned in his paperwork and started to slink away. He turned back, bracing himself bravely.

"Uh, hey Boss?" he asked, continuing quickly just in case Gibbs shut him down. "I have a portable DVD player at home I can bring for her, and some kids' movies, if that would perk her up," he muttered flushing a little. "She gets bored."

"Portable DVD player?" Gibbs repeated skeptically.

DiNozzo grinned.

"Gibbs, it's like a VHS you can take everywhere," he explained smugly. Gibbs glared at him and Tony mitigated his smirk a little, but shrugged, waiting to see how the offer would be received. "Thought I'd offer."

Gibbs looked down at Madeleine and decided it might help. It would keep her occupied, at least. He nodded curtly at DiNozzo and held up his hand in warning.

"Rated _G_, DiNozzo," he growled seriously. "Unless it's Star Wars," he amended, remembering that Madeleine liked those and they weren't all rated so benignly. DiNozzo nodded eagerly, smiling proudly, and McGee came up behind him to hand in his paperwork, looking friendly and interested.

"She likes Star Wars, Boss?"

"Figures you'd hear that part, McNerdWars," DiNozzo teased.

Madeleine put her thumb near her lips and peeked at the men, hesitating slightly.

"Chewy," she said quietly, and then louder, she said a Hebrew word. McGee grinned, and Tony looked at her hesitantly, waiting for a translation.

"Hebrew for _lightsaber_," Gibbs announced. He'd watched Star Wars enough in Hebrew to recognize the word. He glared at McGee and DiNozzo. "You two gonna hang out here all night?"

They hastily answered in the negative and bolted to their desks to gather their things—and then they were gone, no doubt discussing their success in gleaning a little more information about Madeleine. They knew her name now, but he hadn't said a word about her being his daughter, and she was still speaking mostly Hebrew around them, anyway.

Madeleine shifted and covered her face, whimpering quietly. She mumbled something in Hebrew about wanting her mother, and then tilted her head up, looking at his chin and blinking rapidly.

"I'm sick," she whimpered. "Mama," she said sadly, pleading with him.

Gibbs looked away from his computer and pushed his chair away from the desk. He dragged Madeleine's bag out from under his desk and dug out her rabbit stuffed animal for comfort, intent on closing down his work and making good on his plan to hunt Jenny down. Before he could get up, though, Kate was standing in front of him with her paperwork. She laid it on his desk absently and walked around, looking sympathetically at Madeleine.

Kate tilted her head and glanced at Gibbs, gauging his level of protectiveness. She crouched down and reached out to gently touch Madeleine's hand, smiling a little.

"The sniffles aren't fun at all, are they?" she asked nicely. Her hair was pulled back austerely into a ponytail and her head was covered in an NCIS hat; Madeleine looked up at the unexpected touch and startled a little, peering more closely at Kate.

"Zee?" she asked uncertainly, reaching for Kate's face.

"No," Gibbs shook his head, though with her hair hidden and her face so clean, Kate did slightly resemble Ziva's cool, warrior look. He looked at Kate. "Take your hat off," he said. Kate did so, and pulled her ponytail down, combing her hands messily through her hair. Madeleine leaned back against Gibbs' chest, still whimpering mutedly.

Gibbs grimaced and checked her forehead again.

"Does she have a fever?" Kate asked, concerned.

"Nah," he shook his head. "Misses her mom," he admitted.

"Oh," Kate sighed, tilting her head at Madeleine again. "Where does your Mom live, Madeleine?" she asked.

Madeleine stared at Kate suspiciously. She glanced at Gibbs and asked if Kate was safe, in Hebrew. Once again, he answered her in the affirmative; Kate was safe. Everyone here was _safe_.

"Israel," Madeleine answered slowly after a moment. "Um," she added, her brow furrowing. She shook her head. "No, gypsy?" she corrected.

Gibbs snorted.

"Egypt," he told Kate, clarifying.

"Carrots," Madeleine added.

"Cairo," Gibbs translated, laughing slightly.

"Wow, that _is_ far away," Kate said, raising her brows dramatically. "My mom lives far away," she added.

"Where?" Madeleine asked quietly.

"Indiana," Kate answered nicely. "I miss her a lot, but it gets better after a few days. My sister lives far away, too," Kate frowned, relating easily. "I know how you feel, sweetheart," she said, patting Madeleine's foot.

"My sister died," Madeleine muttered uncertainly.

Gibbs felt stricken, caught off guard and shocked by the statement. His first thought, of course, was Kelly—but there was no way Madeleine could possibly be talking about _Kelly_. And then he realized—

"Your sister, M?" he asked gently. "Who're you talking about?"

"Tali," Madeleine whispered, whimpering again. "Zee cried."

"M, Tali wasn't your sister," he said tiredly. He shook his head, looking back up at Kate and hesitating before he clarified. "Friends of her mother's," he said gruffly. "Suicide bombing in the Middle East."

Kate looked appalled.

"What have you been through, little one?" she murmured, looking more closely at Madeleine. She smiled, though, and then straightened up a little, scrutinizing Gibbs matter-of-factly. She had never quite been frightened of Gibbs; in awe, yes, but since their first case on Air Force One, Kate had known Gibbs respected her, and it gave her confidence around him that DiNozzo and McGee rarely showed.

Gibbs glared at her pointedly.

"Ask it, Kate," he ordered.

"_Aba_ is the Hebrew word for _father_," she said bluntly. "Are you? Her father?"

"You speak Hebrew?" he asked skeptically.

"I've been to Jerusalem," she answered. "I'm _Catholic_, Gibbs, they beat Jesus' last words into us—'_Aba, Aba, why have you forsaken me_?'"

He smirked and narrowed his eyes.

"Yeah," he answered finally. He looked down at Madeleine and ruffled her hair. "She's mine."

Kate just grinned.

"Thought so," she said smugly. "She looks at us like you do."

"How's that?"

"Like she thinks we're up to something," Kate laughed.

Gibbs nodded. He began turning his computer off, and nodded at Kate's report.

"Go home, Kate," he said nicely.

He stood up and held Madeleine securely with one hand, gathering up her things. Kate stepped over to help and, as she was packing some things into Madeleine's bag, the three-year-old lifted her head, sniffled a little, and spoke softly:

"_Ma shimka?"_

"Pardon me, sweetie?" Kate asked.

"_Ma shimka_," Madeleine repeated shyly. She pointed to herself. "Maddah-lynn."

"You know the English, M," Gibbs reminded her, rolling his eyes. "You've _got_ to use English."

Kate waved he hand as if it didn't matter.

She pointed to herself.

"My name is Caitlyn," she said brightly. "But everyone calls me Kate."

"Kate," Madeleine tried out softly. She smiled and laid her head back on Gibbs' shoulder. She waved at Kate timidly and tilted her head in a bit of a friendly way. "Shalom, Kate," she said, yawning weakly.

Gibbs smiled to himself, slightly relieved. It seemed Madeleine had made a friend on her own terms, and that was a step in a good direction.

* * *

><p>Gibbs stopped in his tracks and glared at his daughter for what had to be the fourth time this afternoon.<p>

"Madeleine, _sit down_," he ordered, refusing to move the shopping cart until she did as she was told. She glared back at him and whined dramatically. He snapped his fingers and pointed at the seat. "Butt. Seat. _Now_."

She jammed her legs back through the holes and sat, leaning forward on the front of the cart and looking at him as if he'd just taken away the most fun she'd ever had.

"You'll fall and bust your head open," he warned her seriously, moving forward down the aisle again. He shook his head slightly, muttering under his breath. He didn't understand how it had happened that Madeleine had never been in a shopping cart before, but he was sure it had something to do with Jenny's lack of ability to do something as menial as grocery shopping—she'd had Noemi there to do it her whole life.

"Let me out," Madeleine said loudly, tapping is arm. She pointed to the floor. "I can walk."

He shook his head.

"You'll get lost."

"You're _mean_."

"I know," he agreed solemnly. "But it's because I like ya."

Madeleine sighed and folded her arms, turning her eyes to the shelves stocked full of food, some she was familiar with, and some she had never seen before. Her eyes lit up and she pointed, glancing at him through her lashes.

"Cookies," she said sweetly, pointing to boxes of animal crackers.

He picked up a few and threw them in the back of the cart, giving her a playful look.

"Don't think you'll get whatever you ask for just 'cause you're cute," he warned.

She laughed, and he kept on down the aisle, mentally checking his list. He didn't have to stock Jenny's house; Noemi took care of that. He was doing grocery shopping for his place—he and Madeleine were spending most nights at Jenny's, as she had a room there, and he was busy getting her comfortable with Noemi, but on weekends, they were at his house. There she could play in the backyard or run around in an older, more child-friendly atmosphere while Gibbs was busy fixing up Kelly's old room.

"Emmy, did you decide what colour you want your room?"

"Israel," she responded smartly.

He arched an eyebrow and shook his head. It was her go-to response for questions about her room at his house lately. He was sorely tempted to just leave it how it was; painted pink, trimmed in white—the way Shannon had wanted it for Kelly. It was already more difficult than he'd anticipated to start changing the room for someone else.

"Want me to paint it orange?" he teased, turning down another aisle. "Like Daddy's work?"

"_Ew_," she said, shaking her head. She tilted her head back and kicked her legs thoughtfully. "Daddy, I want pink."

He laughed.

"Your mother tried so hard," he muttered, secretly delighted that Jenny's vehement attempts pass on her aversion to pink had failed.

"Pink, pink, pink," Madeleine sank. "Tali likes pink," she told him matter-of-factly. "_Not_ Ziva," she added, giggling.

"It can be pink," he answered gruffly. "Light—"

A crash from the other aisle interrupted him and he paused, listening with interest. It sounded as if a display had fallen over.

"Emily _Grace_!" the voice rose, sharp and aggravated, from the other aisle. "Get over here _right_ _now_!"

Gibbs recognized his ex-wife's angry, shrewish yell immediately and froze. His instinct was to disappear and hide but there really was nowhere to go—besides, if he just stayed put, there was a chance she wouldn't come around this way—

He should have known his luck was worse than that.

Emily Fornell darted around the corner and into the aisle, sheepishly attempting to get away from her angry mother. She skidded to a halt before she could run into Gibbs, looked up to apologize, and then brightened, straightening up. She grinned and waved happily, her blonde ponytail dancing.

"Hi, Agent Gibbs!" she greeted nicely, recognizing him immediately.

Madeleine whipped around and looked down at Emily, narrowing her eyes critically.

"Emily," Gibbs greeted warily. "Where's your mom?"

Emily looked nervous.

"Hide me?" she asked, darting over to him and jumping behind his legs.

Gibbs nearly had a panic attack. It was ridiculous for him to act so childish at the prospect of running into Diane—but then again, she was about to walk around the corner and not only discover that he had a child, when he'd once shouted at her that such a thing was never going to happen again, but also that he was hiding Emily from punishment.

"Emily!" Diane snapped behind him. "What on earth are you doing, _get away_ from that man!" she hissed.

Gibbs figured he better turn around and let her know it was him before she panicked and thought he was some sort of creep threatening to hurt Emily.

"I didn't _mean_ to knock it over, Mommy, I _promise_!" Emily said earnestly, hunkering closer to Gibbs.

"_Stop_ touching _Aba_ he's _mine_!" screeched Madeleine at the top of her lungs.

Gibbs took that as his cue to act.

He let go of his car and turned around, gently pushing Emily towards Diane. He crouched down and pointed to her.

"You're on your own, kiddo," he muttered secretively. "Go on," he said gruffly, letting Diane hear him. "Before you get in more trouble."

He heard the telltale derisive snort that indicated Diane had noticed who he was and he stood up, bracing himself and looking her right in the eye. He managed to look as if he wasn't bothered in the least by this awkward run in, but before he could say anything, Madeleine grabbed his arm and dug her nails into his wrist possessively, glaring at him with wet green eyes.

"Who is _she_?" Madeleine demanded, her lip trembling. Gibbs put his hand on her head and ruffled her hair gently. He placated her quietly, but in the time it took to let Madeleine know Emily was a safe stranger, Diane had come up next to him. She looked intently for a moment at Madeleine and then smiled tightly.

"Jealous little thing," she remarked lightly, obviously having overheard Madeleine's panic over Emily. "She sounds like I used to," Diane added wryly. Gibbs smirked a little uncertainly; taken aback that Diane would admit to her old paranoia. Diane ignored him and tilted her head at Madeleine, smiling curiously.

"Hey, Agent Gibbs, you seen _my_ Dad lately?" Emily asked smartly, putting her hands on her hips. "He lives at work," she added. Diane smiled tightly and hushed Emily, giving the six-year-old a tired look. Gibbs didn't say anything; he hadn't seen Fornell more than once or twice since the Air Force One turf battles.

Diane nodded at Madeleine.

"I bet I could guess," she remarked.

"Diane," he said tightly.

"I am not being hostile, Leroy," she said, shrugging simply. "You can't have gone and married some _other_ poor woman since me, Tobias never would have shut up about it," Diane told him. "Besides," she continued thoughtfully. "She has Shepard's eyes. I wouldn't forget those eyes," she muttered.

"Know what they say about assumptions?" he asked, shooting her a glare.

Diane smiled genuinely.

"I'll take that to mean I'm right," she said slyly. "What's her name?"

Gibbs looked at his daughter. She was glaring at Diane. He grinned.

"Madeleine," he answered.

"That's very pretty," Diane said. "I suppose she picked it out."

"You don't think I could pick a good name?" he asked, glaring at her skeptically.

"I wouldn't know, I guess," she answered. "I didn't have the chance to see."

He looked at her silently.

"I picked Kelly," he admitted gruffly. She looked at him softly, and smiled again.

"Well, Kelly is a pretty name, too," she said.

"Agent Gibbs, is she your little girl?" Emily asked, standing on tiptoes and waving at Madeleine.

Madeleine shrank back and grabbed for Gibbs again, hiding her face.

"Emily Grace, you're scaring her," Diane admonished.

"Sorry," muttered Emily. "I was just saying _hi_."

"She's shy," Gibbs told Emily.

Madeleine looked at Emily and said something to her in Hebrew and then buried her face in Gibbs chest again. Emily frowned and looked at her mother, expecting an explanation. Diane just raised her eyebrows.

"Hebrew," Gibbs explained gruffly. "I don't think it was very nice," he added under his breath, glaring at the top of Madeleine's head.

Diane shook her head.

"I won't even ask what the story is there," she said lightly. She reached out for Emily. "Come on, young lady, we're going to find an employee and you're going to help him clean up your mess," she snapped.

"Help, save me!" Emily cried playfully, beaming at Gibbs.

He gave her a solemn look. Madeleine looked at Emily again.

"Clean up messes," she said smartly. "It's polite."

Emily glared.

"Goody-two-shoes," she snapped, sticking her tongue out.

"Emily Grace, so help me god—when we get home-!" Diane's threat neutralized Emily instantly, and the little blonde girl folded her arms, sinking against Diane and petulantly ignoring everyone else. Diane shook her head and gave Gibbs an it-can't-be-helped look. "As if we could expect my daughter and Jenny's daughter to be friends," she said dryly.

Gibbs smirked and shrugged, resting his hand on Madeleine's head again.

"I'll give Ducky a call to get the scoop," Diane said bluntly, smirking. "In the meantime, if you see my husband around—let him know that it's in his best interests to come home."

Gibbs nodded, though he didn't move until he heard her moving back into the other aisle, sharply reprimanding Emily for her behavior. Her voice slowly faded away and he looked down at Madeleine, getting on eye-level with her.

Madeleine glared at him.

"Her hair is like Mama's," she told him pointedly.

He glared at Madeleine narrowly.

"Is not."

"Is _too_, Daddy."

He frowned. He still hadn't talked to Jenny, but now he was damn sure that when he did, the first thing out of Madeleine's mouth was going to be some smart-ass, innocent comment about _daddy's redhead grocery friend_.

* * *

><p>"Daddy, there is no water in here," Madeleine pointed out matter-of-factly, holding onto a doll tightly with one hand and standing on a part of the wooden frame Gibbs had deemed safe for her. It was wide and sanded—giving minimal chance of her falling and no chance of splinters. Madeleine sat down and let her feet dangle, wiggling her toes in the open ends of her sandals.<p>

"Really?" Gibbs asked, furrowing his brow and looking around. He pretended to be confused.

Madeleine giggled and threw her hands up.

"How will the boat sail?" she asked, making a motion with her hand. "Where will it go?"

"Well, I have to finish it first," he answered slowly. "And then I guess we'll figure it out."

"I can help?" she asked. "Make it sail?"

He nodded, coming over and sitting next to her. He handed her a piece of sand paper and patted the wood. She'd probably do more damage than good, but he didn't particularly care. They had officially gone more than twenty-four hours this weekend without Madeleine bursting into tears or expressing unhappiness at being here, and he was just glad she seemed to be slowly settling in.

"It's _scratchy_," she said. She thrust her hand out and rubbed the paper against his face gently. "Like your morning face!" she squealed smugly. Gibbs gently made her stop scratching his face with the sandpaper and tapped some of the wood, showing her where she could scratch it.

He watched her for a moment, and then kissed the crown of her head and went back to his workbench, sorting through his tools. It had been an oddly peaceful day; after their trip to the grocery store, he had brought Madeleine back to his house and let her play in the backyard. Noemi had come over to keep Madeleine out of the bedroom while Gibbs used some chemicals to fix up the walls.

They were down in the basement now, and though it was kind of late, he was waiting for Madeleine to get tired on her own instead of making her go to bed. She slept in his room when they stayed at his house, which meant he slept on his couch—_still_ in the effort of getting her to sleep on her own.

"I want to plant daisies," she piped up seriously. "Mama said daisies in the backyard," she reminded him.

"Okay," he said, turning and nodding. "We can buy some seeds and plant them next weekend."

"You said puppy, too," she reminded him wickedly.

He looked at her with a raised eyebrow and she blinked at him innocently, her eyes wide and sweet. Gibbs grinned and walked back over, watching her blithely sand his boat into rough, uneven patches that silently hurt him on the inside.

"You're right, I said we could have a puppy," he said seriously. "Let's make a deal, Emmy," he said.

She stopped sanding and glared at him.

"I do not like this game," she said, which induced him to think Jenny used this technique to enforce behavior Madeleine didn't like to comply with. He laughed and leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees and getting on eye level with her.

"It's a fair deal," he promised softly. "You do your best to be happy here with me, even though you miss Mom, and try to trust the people who help me take care of you, and we'll get a puppy as soon as we have time to take care of it, okay?"

She frowned, and bowed her head a little.

"Okay," she murmured after a moment. "Okay, Aba."

He smiled and leaned forward, ruffling her hair.

"I love you, princess," he muttered seriously, squeezing her toes playfully. She giggled and yanked her foot away, pouting at him adorably.

His phone rang, and he turned to go get it.

"I love _you_, Daddy," she shouted at him. "I love you-I love you…" she sang, obviously pleased that it made him happy to hear it. He glanced at the number, didn't recognize it, and swore under his breath—and prayed that he wasn't about to get called in on a case. He flipped open his phone and answered gruffly.

There was a brief, crackling silence.

"Jethro, it's me."

He didn't visibly react right away, mostly because he didn't want Madeleine to pick up on his emotions—the first of which was anger. He swallowed, and kept his voice low, watching Madeleine hum and sand and play with her doll.

"Hey," he said neutrally. "It's about damn time."

Her silence told him she knew good and well she had been in the wrong with her lack of communication.

"I know it's been more than a week," she began.

"Save it," he interrupted curtly. "Are you in a position to talk as long as she wants to?" he asked.

"Yes."

He pulled the phone from his hear and waved it, catching Madeleine's attention.

"Emmy, it's Mommy."

Madeleine shrieked, a smile lighting up her face, and jumped up, wobbling a little. He strode across the basement to sit next to her, pulled her down on his lap, and handed her his cell phone. She scrambled to put it to her ear, bouncing excitedly. She began speaking in jumbled Hebrew, and Gibbs smiled—even if he was angry with Jenny for delaying this call for so long.

"Ima, are you okay? I miss you. Aba's house is big…"

Madeleine's rambling was almost too much to keep up with, and he was sure Jenny was just silently taking it all in, unable to get a word in edgewise. When Madeleine finally did pause, she tilted her head and listened very intently.

"Yes," she said after a moment or two. "Yes, Ima, he takes good care," she said, looking up at Gibbs with a huge smile. "I get two rooms! Saw your house, I like it—Aba does not leave me alone, I go work with him!"

Silence again, and Madeleine just listening, and then she broke into Hebrew again—and her Hebrew sounded so much better than her English that he felt a stab of annoyance again. It seemed like forever that Madeleine was jabbering, and then all of a sudden she dropped the phone into his lap.

"Your turn," she said matter-of-factly.

Gibbs smiled and picked up the phone. She climbed out of his lap and stretched out next to him, curling up and hugging the doll and watching him calmly, a little smile on her face. He patted her foot and held the phone to his ear.

"Are you still alive, or did she talk you to death?" he asked smoothly.

She didn't say anything, and he frowned, standing up slowly. Madeleine watched him, a little uninterested, and when he heard Jenny taking a deep breath he realized she must be struggling with tears.

"I don't know how you did this," she said hoarsely, finally letting him hear her voice. "How did you focus on _anything_ but talking to her or seeing her again?"

"That thought kept me going," he answered curtly. "Where have you been, Jenny?"

"I should have called," she began shakily. "I couldn't—this is harder than I anticipated and I didn't, I didn't want to scare her. I didn't want her to hear me cry, and I didn't think I could do it without crying until now—and," she paused to compose herself. "Well, I still couldn't do it without crying."

"Jen, she needed you," he said shortly. "This transition would have been a hell of a lot easier those first few days if she'd had you to reassure her. She thought you didn't want her anymore."

Jenny made a strangled noise.

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her that wasn't the case!" he snapped back. "But it fell on deaf ears, I think, considering she'd been crying for you for days and I wasn't even able to get Ziva on the phone."

"I'm sorry."

"She doesn't know anyone here, Jenny! I don't give a damn how _you_ feel about this; this was _your_ decision! You wanted this! You've got to learn to suck it up for her sake."

"Get off your high horse, Jethro," she snapped viciously, the catch still in her voice. "I know I let her down, but she's a child, she forgives instantly—she's resilient. You're on edge because you needed me to help soothe her. You don't know how to be a single parent."

He realized he'd gone to far and made her angry when she started attacking him—still, he let himself be sucked into the argument.

"I _know_ how to be a father, Jen."

She scoffed icily.

"You _knew_ how to be a father in the eighties, when your wife stayed home and did all the hard stuff and you fulfilled the traditional breadwinner role," she accused, scalding. "You _don't_ know how to be a single parent," she repeated.

He set his jaw, falling silent. He didn't have anything to say—and he vaguely acknowledged that what she'd said had hurt him badly, probably more than anything she'd ever said to him in the past. The suggestion that he couldn't do this—that he wasn't capable or prepared—was unnerving and daunting, and it bothered him to know Jenny thought he was a step-down when it came to parenting.

When his silence lasted too long, she spoke.

"Jethro," she said tiredly. "I—I shouldn't," she paused. "I don't know what your life was like with Shannon, I shouldn't have—"

"No," he said coldly. "You shouldn't."

He said nothing else, and he heard her take a deep breath.

He glanced over at Madeleine, and noticed she had covered her ear with her hand and was looking at him with wide eyes. He must have been talking a little too loudly, and he berated himself mentally for letting her hear him fight with her mother.

"Do you want to say goodnight to her?" he asked Jenny tightly, lowering his voice. "I'll put you on speaker."

He did so without waiting for an answer and walked back over to Madeleine.

"Madeleine? Ahuva," Jenny said soothingly. "It's your bed time."

"Yes, Mama," Madeleine answered sweetly. "Daddy lets me sleep in his bed."

"He does? Well, I hope you don't kick him or steal his covers," Jenny said gently. "You be good for your father, okay? I'll call you tomorrow. I love you, baby."

"I love you," Madeleine answered, touching the phone. "Leila tov, Ima," she added.

"Goodnight," Jenny answered.

Gibbs took her off speaker and hesitantly pressed the phone back to his ear.

"Take care of yourself, Jen," he said neutrally.

"You are a good father, Jethro," she said in a small, apologetic voice.

"Yeah," he answered a little aggressively. "I am."

He hung up, because he didn't want to extend that painful conversation any longer. He looked down at Madeleine and pushed her hair back.

"You sleepy, sweetheart?" he asked.

She nodded, and rubbed her eye.

"Can you tell me a story?"

He nodded, and swept her up into his arms, deciding he wouldn't make her walk up those pesky basement stairs tonight.

* * *

><p>Jenny was not particularly impressed with her new office in the NCIS Cairo field office. It was spacious, it was important; it screamed ambition and achievement, and—admittedly—she was pleased with herself for earning it, but first and foremost she missed her daughter, and this empty, clean office just reminded her that she'd essentially traded Madeleine for a promotion.<p>

And yes, Jethro had encouraged her and supported her, and she did want the promotion, but it still didn't feel the way she thought it would.

She sat at her desk, leaning back in her chair, with one foot propped up on the edge, staring thoughtfully at her nameplate. She toyed with the idea of placing pictures of Madeleine on the desk, but she hadn't yet taken that step. It was still almost utterly unknown that she was a mother, and she wasn't sure she wanted to start that conversation.

The team she was in charge of here was all male. They didn't like her. They didn't trust her, and she was sure they had decided they weren't going to respect her and they weren't going to make her job easy. She knew they were whispering, asking whom she had slept with to get a position like this when she'd been an agent for less than six years.

She did her very best not to care, and she was sure she was successful at putting up that front, but when she was alone, she did care. It wasn't like this at Mossad; the women in Mossad were treated with equality. Not a single Mossad officer was cut any slack in training or evaluations—that was a risk the Israelis couldn't afford—and so no female was thought to have _slept_ her way into a position.

Unfortunately, it wasn't the same in this American agency riddled with the stubborn marks of a sexist system.

She was having a frustrating, difficult time establishing control here, but she wasn't going to whine about it to the director. It was bad enough that she was trying to deal with having Madeleine suddenly removed from her life. She used that pain to her advantage, though—she _had_ to excel here, or packing her daughter off to a country across the ocean would mean _nothing_.

Sometimes, she forgot that the country across the ocean was her home. She had been overseas for so long—she had fallen in love with Jethro in Europe; Madeleine, even though she held American citizenship, had only known a Middle Eastern home. It was odd to think of the States as her _home_. She felt removed from it. She wondered if Madeleine would begin to think of DC as home anytime soon.

There was a sharp knock at her office door, and she sat up, taking her leg off the desk for professionalism's sake. She raised her voice and granted whoever it was permission to enter.

"Hey, Madame—um, Agent Shepard," her next in command stood in the doorway, looking a little sheepish.

She narrowed her eyes and smirked a little, waiting for him to continue. She knew they had taken to sarcastically calling her Madame Shepard behind her back. She hated the connotation, but she ignored it. She was going to pick and choose her battles, and that was one that wasn't worth being chosen.

"Agent Holland?" she prompted. "Did you forget how to speak?"

He cleared his throat.

"Leon Vance is on satellite for you from Rota," Holland said.

Jenny made a face and stood up, pushing her chair in. She nodded and followed Holland to the control room distastefully. Vance, another agent she didn't want to deal with—an agent who had apparently been up for this position alongside her. They had equal qualifications, and probably the only thing that had secured her this job over him was that her mission to neutralize the threat in Chechnya had succeeded, while his had failed.

Hers, she reminded herself, had only succeeded because she'd had Gibbs to cover her ass.

And regardless of the logistics and intricacies, Leon Vance was always going to resent her for cinching this position, and therefore putting her a league ahead of him in the food chain.

* * *

><p>Tony DiNozzo glanced surreptitiously at his boss' desk, checking to make sure all seemed well. Things looked to be in order, and so DiNozzo—after a brief glance at McGee—returned tensely to his work. This had been his manner of working for the past hour—since Gibbs and Kate had disappeared upstairs to handle something in MTAC that had connections to the Secret Service. Under normal circumstances, being Gibbs-free in the bullpen would be a cause for relaxation and celebration.<p>

But these were not normal circumstances.

In a completely unpredictable and inexplicable gesture of confidence, Gibbs had left Madeleine in the bullpen with McGee and DiNozzo. She was fast asleep behind his desk, so it was safe to assume he didn't technically trust them with her, but DiNozzo was still baffled by it. Since the little girl had first come to work with Gibbs about a week ago, he'd rarely let her out of his sight—once he'd given her off to Abby while they worked a scene, and once he let Kate take her to the bathroom.

On that note, DiNozzo still wasn't sure how exactly Madeleine was _connected_ to Gibbs.

He looked up thoughtfully, intent on squinting over at Gibbs desk and think about it obsessively, and nearly jumped out of his skin. He let out a squeak of surprise that grabbed McGee's attention.

There she was, the little girl, standing right at the corner of his desk, peering at him with shy, big green eyes, her thumb near her mouth, looking as if she was about to start crying. She blinked at him and lowered her head a little when he met her eyes.

DiNozzo shot a panicked look at McGee.

He didn't know what to do—didn't this kid understand that he was just as scared of her as she was of him?

He cleared his throat, trying to think of something warm and relatable to say. He opened his mouth and what came out was not at all what he had wanted.

"Hi," he said awkwardly, lifting his arm and wiggling his fingers.

He swore he _felt_ McGee roll his eyes. He made a mental note to mock the Probie later. It wasn't as if McStutter would be any better at interacting with the kid than DiNozzo was!

"Excuse me," Madeleine said politely. "Where is Daddy?" she asked clearly, in a small but certain voice.

DiNozzo stared at her, his mind freezing up a little. Well, that answered a _hell_ of a lot of his questions. He was now busy trying to process the information that Gibbs was her father while also trying to figure out how to handle her.

She blinked sleepily and yawned, still peering at him intently.

"Answer her," hissed McGee under his breath.

"Oh," DiNozzo muttered, clearing his throat. He raised his eyebrows. "He's, uh, Gibbs is in MTAC," he answered lamely.

Madeleine looked at him in confusion.

"Attack?" she asked. "He's attacked?" she asked, her eyes filling with tears.

DiNozzo blanched, nearly sent into cardiac arrest—if Gibbs came back and his daughter was crying Tony was _dead_.

"No, not attacked," McGee said, getting up and walking over. He crouched right next to Madeleine, smiling warmly. "MTAC," he said, stressing the letters. "Do you know your ABC's?"

Madeleine nodded.

"M-T-A-C," spelled McGee. "It's a special room full of lights and big televisions used to talk to people," he explained. "Gibbs is talking to an important, boring man up there. He'll be back soon."

DiNozzo glared at McGee, perturbed that the geek was miraculously good with children. After all, there was no reason for a suave, super special agent—a DiNozzo!—to be incompetent with a pre-schooler. Even if she _was_ a mini-Gibbs pre-schooler.

"Big TVs?" Madeleine asked turning towards McGee hesitantly.

He nodded, smiling more broadly.

"As big as a wall!" he elaborated.

She hugged herself, smiling at him shyly.

"I see," she said thoughtfully, racking her brains. "I talk to Daddy on one."

"Oh, really?" McGee asked conversationally. "That is super cool," he said, pretending he was in awe. "You must be a smart kid, learning how to use a big satellite screen!"

Madeleine blushed.

"Mama helped me," she informed McGee quietly. She stopped hugging herself and stepped closer, perking up a little. "Your name is?" she asked sweetly.

He pointed to himself. He hesitated a moment, unsure if he should use his last name or his first name. He decided the latter would be probably be easier for a three-year-old, and answered her.

"My name is Tim," he said clearly, and then used his thumb to gesture to DiNozzo. "This is Tony."

"Tim," Madeleine repeated, humming cutely when she got to the 'm'. She cocked her head and looked up at DiNozzo. "Pony?" she asked, having misunderstood. McGee snickered, and Tony let out a squawk of surprise and protest.

"Tony," he said, patting his chest like Tarzan. "Toe-knee," he pronounced clearly.

McGee seized the opportunity to exert some teasing revenge.

"You can call him Pony if you want to," he said seriously, reaching out and patting Madeleine's shoulder. She giggled and scampered forward, sidling up to McGee's side and looking up at Tony with a bright smile on her face. Her green eyes sparkled, all trace of sleepy shyness gone from them.

Inwardly, DiNozzo cringed. McGee making fun of him was bad enough, but Kate and Gibbs were _really_ going to give him hell if the kid was going to be calling him _Pony_ for the rest of forever.

Madeleine hopped away from McGee and put her hand on Tony's knee, poking him in a way that was oddly polite. She put her hand on her own chest.

"Maddah-lynn," she said amiably. "I like the baby TV," she said, pointing to her corner. DiNozzo followed her gesture, confused for a moment before he realized she was referring to the portable DVD player he'd brought in for her. He smiled and nodded eagerly.

"Did you like the movie?" he asked eagerly.

Gibbs had said G-rated movies, or Star Wars, and DiNozzo was definitely not going to encourage any Probie-level geekery. Most of his old kiddie movies were on VHS, so he'd casually bought some children's classics and cartoons, partly because his collection needed them—and partly because he was sucking up to Gibbs, so he needed the kid on his good side.

He was pretty sure Kate had chosen _Babe_ for her.

Madeleine smiled again.

"I like the piggy," she said. She frowned a little. "I fell asleep," she said apologetically.

"That's okay," Tony said seriously. "We all wish Gibbs would let us take naps."

She giggled, and McGee stood up, heading back to his desk to work. Madeleine hung around near Tony's knee for a moment, and then turned and followed McGee, her eyes drifting to Gibbs' desk uncertainly. She scampered closer to McGee and grabbed his hand as he sat down, pointing to her father's empty chair.

"Back soon?" she asked, lowering her voice again.

McGee hesitated.

"I think so," he said. "If you really need him, I can go get him for you."

She shook her head. It wasn't an emergency. She didn't know the words to tell Tim that, but she understood that she should let her dad work unless she was bleeding or sick or something. She scooted closer to Tim and patted his knee a little timidly.

"I may sit with you?"

He nodded, reaching down to help her up.

"Sure," he said, smiling and letting her settle in on his lap. He put his arms around her to be able to type. "You want to help me work?"

"I am too little," she said. "Silly."

DiNozzo snickered.

"_Silly_," he repeated, smirking at McGee.

Madeleine leaned forward and pointed at the computer, her finger touching the screen and making McGee wince at the print she left. She tapped a little, glancing over her shoulder at him.

"Make pictures," she requested firmly. "I want to see puppies."

"Okay," McGee muttered, pulling up a search engine and simply typing in a search for puppies. A screen filled with adorable little animals popped up and Madeleine squealed, clapping her hands and leaning back against him happily. She seemed amused for a total of ten seconds and then tilted her head up seriously.

"I would please like lunch," she said matter-of-factly.

"Uh," McGee answered, looking over at DiNozzo. DiNozzo looked uncertainly up at MTAC; Gibbs showed no sign of emerging. He looked back at the probie and shrugged a little, tilting his head. They shared a look and then McGee gave his own shrug and looked down at Madeleine, raising his eyebrows. "What do you want to eat?"

She sighed and put her hand to her mouth. She usually just ate what she was given to eat.

Tony snapped his fingers gleefully.

"Happy meal?" he asked. "I can run to McDonald's for her, get us somethin', too," he said eagerly, grinning. He stood up and walked closer. "Will you eat a Happy Meal?"

She stared at him in confusion. McGee raised his eyebrows.

"Have you ever had a Happy Meal?" he asked.

She put her finger near her lips and then pouted, shaking her head slightly. DiNozzo stared in disbelief.

"Are you American?" he asked flippantly.

"No," she answered, her brows going up.

The two agents looked at her curiously.

"No?" repeated McGee.

Madeleine smacked her lips.

"I live in Israel."

McGee looked up at DiNozzo, and they mutually decided to ferret out the secrets behind that later. DiNozzo pointed at Madeleine suavely and smiled.

"Okay, different question: do you eat chicken?"

The little girl nodded.

"And French fries?"

She looked uncertain.

"Unhealthy," she said.

DiNozzo shrugged.

"Eh, you'll be fine once," he muttered. He scrambled to his desk and grabbed his wallet and keys, ready to bound out of the agency in search of food. He paused briefly and pointed at Kate and Gibbs' empty desks. "Should I get them something?"

"It's cheap, just bring back a bunch of burgers," McGee answered, turning back to the computer.

Tony bolted off; eager to be gone before Gibbs could stop him, and McGee smirked, looking down at Madeleine secretively. He glanced around the bullpen, making sure he was in the clear, and then hunched over a little and pressed some buttons, cocking his eyebrow at the three-year-old.

"Let's play Tetris," he whispered conspiratorially, bringing up the game on his computer.

She giggled, mimicking is secretive stance, and leaned forward on her elbows to watch.

* * *

><p>Their work in MTAC had taken longer than Gibbs anticipated, and he was anxious to get back to the bullpen. He took the stairs quickly, glaring around the area like a hawk. It was foolish to think Madeleine would still be asleep; she had already been out for half an hour when he'd left to go up with Kate.<p>

He strode into the bullpen, noticing two things immediately: DiNozzo was nowhere to be seen, and Madeleine was sitting in McGee's lap with a bright smile on her face, her hand nestled under his on the computer mouse. Gibbs narrowed his eyes, coming to a stop slowly in the middle of the room, eyeing the two of them silently.

He heard Kate pull out her own chair behind him, and the noise attracted Madeleine's attention.

"Oh, hello, Daddy," she greeted blithely, looking up and waving at him. She grinned and sat back in McGee's lap, pointing at the computer screen with a proud look. "Game," she said promptly, explaining to him what they were doing.

McGee looked at Gibbs warily over the top of Madeleine's head, unsure if he was going to be in trouble for playing a game at work or for interacting with the boss' daughter or—well, McGee was unsure _what_ was going to happen.

Gibbs tilted is head, his expression unreadable, and then looked at McGee sharply, gesturing at DiNozzo's desk.

"Where's DiNozzo?"

"McDonald's," answered McGee.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes in a glare.

"What?" he asked. "_Why_?" he demanded.

"Because I am hungry," Madeleine piped up, wriggling out of McGee's grip and climbing up on his desk. He winced and grabbed for her, helping her not to step on his keyboard or on anything valuable. She giggled, under the impression he was trying to snatch her up and tickle her, and Gibbs took the cue to sweep her off the desk. He placed her on the floor at his knee and looked down at her raising his eyebrow.

"_You_ told DiNozzo he could leave and get you food?" he asked skeptically, still convinced DiNozzo had taken it upon himself to seek food while Gibbs wasn't around to deny it to him.

Madeleine looked up at him and put her hands on her hips.

"You went away," she snapped at him, furrowing her brows. "Leave me _all_ alone!"

He grinned indulgently.

"He really did go to get her food," McGee said seriously.

Gibbs looked back down at Madeleine and she nodded.

"'Cause you left me," she informed him, pouting.

He put his hand on her head and scrunched up his nose, turning her gently towards his desk.

"You find anything before she distracted you?" he asked McGee, pulling out his chair and pointing Madeleine back to her little corner behind his desk. She looked at the set up distastefully and skipped back around to the front of his desk, looking at Kate curiously.

McGee pulled up some charts and started to answer; Kate waved at Madeleine.

"Did you have a good nap?" Kate asked, tilting her head.

"I do not know, I was asleep for it," Madeleine answered seriously.

Gibbs leaned over his desk and tapped her shoulder.

"Hey, get over here," he said neutrally. "Be good."

She shook her head and hopped away, scampering over to DiNozzo's desk and pulling his chair out. She scrambled up into the rolling chair carefully, turnin around and slouching down a little, sitting there and glaring at Gibbs quietly, her green eyes a little cool. He was suddenly very strongly reminded of her mother, and he braced himself for whatever was about to come out of her mouth.

"Madeleine, come here," he said.

"No," she said lightly. "I will sit in Pony's chair," she added matter-of-factly. "You left me," she reminded him _again_. He wasn't so much guilted by her apparent resentment of him leaving the room as he was interested that she had just—it sounded like, at least—called DiNozzo '_Pony'_.

"Did she just say 'Pony'?" Kate asked, pointing at Madeleine with a pencil, her brows going up a little hopefully. McGee snorted.

"Oh, yeah, that's what she calls him," he answered, grinning.

Kate let out a cackle, leaning back in her chair.

Gibbs looked across the bullpen at his daughter, smirking slightly, and winked at her.

She giggled, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Pony," she murmured, sensing that it amused her father.

"Good girl," he praised, and her eyes lit up, and she looked happier than he'd seen her since she moved in with him.

* * *

><p>Madeleine looked uncertainly at Gibbs' hand as he held it out persuasively. She had gotten very used to sleeping at the townhouse, and she had forgotten what it was like at his house—emptier, not as homey, still being fixed up. He had helped her brush her teeth, handed her a blanket and a stuffed animal, and was trying to coax her into the basement.<p>

"It's dark," she murmured uncertainly.

"I'll turn a light on, honey," he said patiently. "It's the same basement as last time you were here," he reminded her. He smiled, still staying calm. She lifted her stuffed rabbit to her lips and cuddled it tightly, prancing forward and grabbing his hand.

"Why we not stay with Nomee?" she asked quietly, holding tight to him as he led her down the stairs carefully.

"Because Daddy lives here," he answered. "And this weekend, we're going to finish fixing up your room, and we're going to start making Daddy's house feel like home," he explained.

"I like that room at Nomee's," she informed him.

"I like it, too," he answered, picking her up and swinging her playfully over the landing and onto the floor. She giggled, and grabbed on to his leg when he set her back on the ground; Gibbs crouched down to her level and put his arm around her comfortingly. "But that is your Mom's house. We can stay there sometimes, but you live with me, and I live here."

She seemed to think about it for a moment, and then looked at him intently.

"No, Aba," she said slowly. "Ima's house in Carrot."

"Cairo," he corrected patiently. He nodded. "Yes, she lives there for right now. When she comes home, she lives in the townhouse."

"Mama's home is here?"

"It sure is, Emmy," he answered, smiling. "She just has to work over in the Middle East for a while."

Madeleine looked at him a little uncertainly. She shrugged and wriggled away, walking to the boat and inspecting it curiously. She put her hand on it and rose up on her tiptoes, looking around intently. She glanced back at him and raised her eyebrows, pointing to all of the pillows and blankets and towels he had piled on the framework.

"Oh no," she said. "Daddy made a mess."

He smirked and stood up, walking over to the wall and flipping on the lights. The basement was flooded in bright light, for once, as he'd taken it upon himself to change the bulb to something that would make it easier for a child to see. He had swept the floor, carefully inspected everything to make sure there were no loose nails or screws threatening little feet, and sprayed for bugs—the basement was as child-proof as a basement woodshop could get, and for the other dangers, he was here to protect her.

He pulled a cardboard box off a shelf and set it on the workbench, showing her two flashlights.

"It's not a mess," he said, crouching down and handing her a purple one. It was old and dusty, and small enough for her hands—another little girl's old flashlight from a backyard camping trip way back in nineteen-eighty-nine. He lowered his voice secretively. "It's supplies."

"For what?" she asked, lowering her voice, too.

He grinned.

"Since your room isn't ready yet, we're gonna build a fort," he said. "And camp out in it."

She looked at the boat and all of the 'supplies' and then she gave him a big smile and jumped up, hugging her blanket and stuffed animal closer and clutching the flashlight. She hit the button intuitively to turn it on, and it lit up her face.

"Ghost stories!" she exclaimed.

He laughed, lowering the bright light from her eyes a little.

"We'll see," he placated. He in no way intended to regale his three-year-old with horror stories, but maybe he could convince her _Sleeping Beauty_ was scary if he played up the cartoon witch-turned-dragon spookily enough.

She beamed and ran over to the boat, jumping up next to it.

"How?" she asked.

He followed her and swung her up onto the frame with a gentle reminder to be careful not to fall.

"We have to unfold all the blankets," he said, grabbing some and showing her how to shake them out, "and then we drape them all over the boat, and crawl inside."

She mimicked his shaking out of the blankets, and watched as he began throwing them over the frame, shrouding the inside of the boat in darkness. She squealed as she was slowly surrounded by the darkness the blankets created as they made a fort around the boat.

"Aba!" she called.

He poked his head through the ribs of the boat and through the edges of two blankets and whistled for her attention. She turned around and gasped, covering her eyes. She peeked at him and laughed.

"Aba, come in, it's scary!"

"Let me finish it up, M," he answered. He grabbed her portable DVD player from the stairs and picked up a few of the extra pillows for them—and then he carefully got inside the boat-turned-fort with her and set up a little makeshift bed for her to snuggle up on. He laid out some of the DVDs DiNozzo had lent them and then sat next to her, pointing. "Your choice."

"But bedtime," she said.

"It's okay," he assured her. "We can stay up late. Daddy doesn't have to work tomorrow."

She climbed into his lap with her stuffed animal and curled up, almost catlike. She rested her head on his knee and then reached out, picking up a brightly coloured cartoon box and holding it up to him, waving it slightly.

"I want this," she decided.

He squinted his eyes to read the title.

She had handed him a copy of _The Aristocats. _It was a movie he was familiar with; Kelly had watched it a few times when she was little. He nodded and leaned forward, figuring out fairly quickly how to work DiNozzo's nuanced little DVD player thing. She tugged at his shirt while he fixed it up, and he grunted to indicate he was listening.

"Daddy," she said thoughtfully, "You say Mama is home here?"

He nodded absently.

"When she's not working in the Middle East," he repeated. "She lives in America."

"Not Israel?"

"No," he answered, leaning back and stroking her hair soothingly. "That's just where she was when she had you."

Madeleine looked at him intently and yawned, though she didn't let the yawn interfere with her staring at him as if she were trying to figure out some big secret.

"She will come here?" Madeleine asked softly.

"Someday," Gibbs answered vaguely.

Madeleine sat up, hugging the flashlight and her stuffed animal in her lap. She pursed her lips and looked around. She looked back at him, her mind working seriously behind her green eyes, and she straightened her shoulders a little.

"My home is here?" she asked slowly, as if figuring it out.

He nodded carefully.

"I know it doesn't feel like it right now, Emmy," he said quietly.

She leaned against him, looking at the small DVD screen silently for a moment. She put her thumb in her mouth, and he was about sure she'd simply decided to watch the movie when she pulled her thumb back out of her mouth and twisted to look at him.

"It can be home if Daddy says," she informed him, curling up in his lap again.

Gibbs let out a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding. He leaned over her and kissed the top of her head, smiling a little. He rubbed her shoulders, and covered her with a blanket—it was summer, but nothing really changed how chilly it always it was in the basement. She giggled and pointed at the DVD screen.

"Daddy, the kitties talk!" she squealed happily.

He smiled, leaning back on his hands, and relaxed.

Jenny had been right when she said Madeleine was resilient; this arrangement was looking up—it was the second time in a week he'd experienced her being utterly content.

* * *

><p>It was noon on a Saturday, and Gibbs' house was louder and more crowded than it had been in a long, long time.<p>

He didn't mind the chaos, even though he wasn't use to it, though he was slightly confused as to how so many people had decided it was their duty to show up under the pretense of 'helping him'. He didn't need _help_. He had _asked_ Noemi to come watch Madeleine while he worked, and he had _mentioned_ to Abby that she could drop by and _somehow_, that had turned into Noemi happily complying, Abby, of course, showing up with all kinds of goodies—and out of the blue, Ducky appearing with two of his mother's Corgis, and Gibbs hadn't left the bedroom to check yet, but he was pretty sure he'd heard DiNozzo's loud mouth out in the kitchen.

He rolled his eyes and took a screwdriver out of his tool belt, attaching another cover for an electric socket to the wall near Madeleine's new bed. He had removed the old, yellowing white ones, painted them green, and was fastening them back on. Madeleine had asked for the room to be pink, so instead of completely changing Kelly's old room, he had decided simply to add to it and tweak it a little. He'd put another coat of the light pink on the walls to freshen things up, then he'd painted the floorboards green and used stencils to make it look like there was grass coming up from the floor. He'd painted the trim around the ceiling blue and then used an amateur technique to swirl yellow into the ceiling.

To surprise her—because he hadn't let her in here to see it yet—he'd chosen one wall to paint daisies on. He hadn't had a chance to plant some in the backyard yet, so daisies on the wall were going to have to do. He furniture was white, and he'd been busy getting her things from Israel in order and set up in the room; it had finally arrived, and he knew she was going to be most excited to see her rocking horse.

Gibbs cringed when he heard an excited shriek erupt from his living room, reluctant to go see what had his daughter so excited. He finished fixing up the walls and then stood up, putting the screwdriver back into his belt. He still had some things to clean up, but he was about done. He left her room and warily made his way into the living room.

He barely had a chance to look around and register his surroundings before Madeleine flew into his knees at full force and grabbed his hand, simultaneously attempting to hug him and drag him towards the middle of the living room.

"Aba! Aba!" she squealed dramatically, giving up on the dragging and just pointing insistently. "Look! Doggies!" she shouted, jumping up and down.

"I see them," he muttered, glaring at Ducky one more time. He'd already experienced this maniacal excitement from Madeleine when Ducky had first shown up—unannounced—with the dogs. He didn't quite know what had set her off again.

Madeleine gripped his hand again and looked up at him.

"I can keep one," she informed him primly.

"_What_?" he asked sharply, narrowing his eyes. Gibbs pried her gently away from his leg and glared around insistently. The two dogs in his living room wagged their tails blithely at him. Madeleine nodded proudly.

"Not to worry, Jethro," Ducky spoke up placidly. "I simply told young Madeleine she might have a puppy from the next litter mother breeds," he explained. "If that is okay with you, naturally."

Gibbs said a silent prayer of relief. They didn't have the time to take care of a puppy right now; it would be cruel to leave it alone all day at home, and there was no _way_ he could have a puppy and a three-year-old at work with him. He looked down at Madeleine and raised an eyebrow half-heartedly.

"Don't you want a big dog like a lab or a golden retriever?" he asked half-heartedly, annoyed at the prospect of having to be seen caring for or walking a prissy little thing like a damn welsh corgi. Madeleine frowned at him and put a hand on her hip.

"No, Aba, look at the teeny tails!" she retorted, flouncing back over to the corgis on the floor and tumbling down onto her back to play with them. She let them lick her face and crawl all over her and Gibbs frowned. He rolled his eyes and gave Ducky a baleful look.

Abby poked her head out of the kitchen and whistled, wriggling her eyes at Gibbs playfully.

"Lookin' good in that tool belt, _El Jefe,"_ she said, snickering. "Do you want a sandwich?"

He shook his head, narrowing his eyes and squinting past Abby.

"DiNozzo," he barked. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

DiNozzo paused mid-bit of his sandwich and looked at Gibbs with wide eyes, swallowing slowly and choosing his words carefully.

"Helping," he answered bluntly.

Gibbs glared at him.

"Er, snooping," DiNozzo corrected sheepishly. "Abby made me come," he tried to explain quickly. "She said you might need help with…stuff."

Gibbs almost rolled his eyes. The idea that DiNozzo would be any help with handiwork was laughable, considering the state of his apartment. Instead of mocking the senior agent, though, Gibbs just ignored the comment and looked around for Noemi, making his way into the kitchen.

"Are any of these clowns in your way?" he asked her, when he found her making a pitcher of lemonade.

She beamed at him good-naturedly.

"No, no, not a bit, _Senor_ Gibbs," she said amiably. "I remember Doctor Mallard," Noemi added, smiling at the doctor from far away. Gibbs raised his eyebrows, mildly surprised. He supposed Jenny must have had Ducky over for tea or something back before Europe.

God, Europe felt like _centuries_ ago.

"Do you need any help, Gibbs?" Abby asked brightly. "I can take Madeleine shopping if you like."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at Abby skeptically.

"She has plenty of clothes, Abs," he said hesitantly.

Abby giggled.

"Gibbs, I know how to dress a _child_!" she protested, rolling her eyes. "Besides, everyone knows that you don't wear skulls and dog collars until you're _four_ years old," she teased. Gibbs wasn't sure if he should laugh and encourage her or just give her a glare that made it clear he didn't want his child dressed like Abby until she was quite a bit older. Abby clasped her hands together.

"Nah, Abby, she doesn't need to be spoiled," he said.

"Well, here's the thing," Abby said, raising her voice. "I kind of have Kate on call, because Kate and I kind of are planning to take her shopping and for ice cream and stuff, so that way she can get to know us and like us more and we cane steal her whenever we want," she explained in one long breath.

Gibbs stared at her, turned around, and flung his hand out at DiNozzo.

"What's he doing here again?" he demanded.

"Gibbs, you _know_ Tony doesn't have anything else to do on weekends!" Abby answered.

"Hey!" DiNozzo protested. He pointed at the Goth with a glare. "I have a date tonight."

"Yeah, if her husband doesn't cancel it again," Abby fired back with a smug look.

Gibbs rolled his eyes. He backed up and looked into the living room. Madeleine looked perfectly content, playing happily with Ducky's Corgis. He wondered if it would be a good idea to let Abby and Kate take her out. Madeleine had, oddly enough, clung to McGee for the past two days at work, but she also liked Abby—and Gibbs was most comfortable with the women handling her anyway. Jenny would call it painstakingly old fashioned, but then again; Jenny hadn't met DiNozzo _or_ McGee.

If he left Madeleine with the two of them, she would either end up tangled in some video game cord with no hope of extrication or she'd be in the arms of whatever brainless floozy DiNozzo set his sights on and used the three-year-old as a lure for.

"Please?" Abby asked, clasping her hands. "We've kept her out of your hair all day!"

Gibbs turned and walked into the living room. He sat down on his couch and waited for Madeleine to notice him and sit up. He raised his eyebrows and beckoned her forward with his finger. She walked up to him and hugged his knee, resting her cheek on his leg. He smiled at her and lifted her chin to look her in the eye.

"Abby wants to take you shopping," he said seriously. "Would you like to go with her?"

"Is the puppies coming?" Madeleine asked, just as seriously.

He shook his head.

"No, no puppies," he said apologetically. "But Abby offered to get you ice cream, and she says Kate wants to come, too. What do you think?"

She straightened up and climbed right up on his lap, standing on his legs and looking over his head at Abby. Abby waved at her happily, her pigtails bouncing. Madeleine reached up to her hair and then sat down heavily on Gibbs' lap, nearly destroying his knees with her lack of gentility. He winced and pulled her forward a little to make it more comfortable.

"Make my hair like this," Madeleine ordered, holding her hair in lopsided pigtails like Abby's.

Gibbs raised his eyebrows and picked her up, holding her under his arm sideways. She giggled, wrinkling her nose at him.

"I'm gonna let you do that," he said, presenting her to Abby.

Abby practically snatched Madeleine away, squealing and touching her nose to hers.

"You want to come play with Kate and I?" she asked hopefully.

"I like vanilla," Madeleine answered seriously.

Abby hugged her tightly and looked over her head at Gibbs.

"Hairbrush?" she asked.

Gibbs retreated to the bathroom to get some hair ribbons and a brush for Abby; he still didn't want Madeleine in the back room until everything was set up and finished perfectly.

"Are there any rules we have to follow?" Abby asked politely, sitting Madeleine on the countertop and beginning to deftly tie her hair up in mini pigtails.

Gibbs shrugged.

"She's not allergic to anything," he said. "Make her hold your hand in parking lots and in stores, make sure she's buckled in the car seat," he shrugged again. "Common sense things."

"Tony, go put Madeleine's car seat in my car," Abby ordered, holding out her free hand for Gibbs' keys.

"I do that," Noemi piped up, washing her hands and taking Gibbs' keys from him. "It difficult to hook up," she explained, bustling past. DiNozzo didn't look offended, just relieved. Noemi went about switching the car seats, and Gibbs took Abby's place in front of Madeleine as soon as the Goth was done fixing her hair.

Madeleine reached up to pat her hair, grinning.

"Look, Daddy," she said, scrunching up her nose happily. "Pretty."

"Very pretty," he agreed gruffly, touching her nose lightly. She giggled. He raised his eyebrows at her and looked at her intently. "Emmy Jane, you behave for Abby and Kate," he told her. "Listen to what they say and use polite words—speak _English_," he added, just as a reminder.

"Yes sir," Madeleine said, saluting him unexpectedly.

He gave her a surprised look, but smirked. He leaned forward, kissed her forehead, and lifted her down to the ground. He pointed to the door and she went to put her shoes on. Abby pranced past to help her buckle on the black Mary Janes, and DiNozzo stood quietly next to Gibbs, slowly chewing his sandwich.

"Boss, that was adorable," he deadpanned.

Gibbs slapped him in the back of the head and jerked his head towards the backyard.

"Make yourself useful, DiNozzo," he growled. "Help me get her furniture in."

"Say 'bye' to your Dad," Abby said, picking up her purse from Gibbs' kitchen.

Madeleine looked over Abby's shoulder.

"Shalom, Aba," she said. She winked at him clumsily. "You be good."

He snorted in spite of himself and waved—and then before DiNozzo could call him adorable again, he head-slapped him just for good measure.

* * *

><p>Gibbs held up an empty mason jar and waved it at Ducky, arching his eyebrow with an unspoken question. Ducky waved his hand and demurred in response; he wasn't particularly fond of Jethro's brand of hard whiskey. Gibbs shrugged and sloshed a small swallow of the alcohol into the jar, turning around to face his old friend.<p>

Madeleine's room was finished. Noemi had gone home, DiNozzo had gone home, and Kate and Abby had yet to return with Madeleine—dinner, Abby insisted, they were getting her dinner and then they swore they'd give her back. In all honesty, Gibbs was relieved that he had a moment to regroup—he needed the break, and with any luck, Madeleine would be so tired out from the exciting day that she'd fall right to sleep.

Ducky looked with amusement at the leftover fort from the night before and leaned against the boat casually, tilting his head at Gibbs.

"How is Jennifer?" he asked cordially, and immediately realized that something must be off, because Gibbs' reaction to the question was less than amiable.

He looked into his whiskey coolly and narrowed his eyes, choosing his words carefully.

"Haven't spoken to her much," he answered, looking up. He lifted his index finger pointedly. "One time."

Ducky's brows went up.

"You've only spoken to her once?" he asked in disbelief. "Jethro, it's been nearly three weeks!"

Gibbs gave the medical examiner a look as if to indicate he was perfectly aware of how long it had been. He grit his teeth and shrugged, taking a drink of his bourbon before leaning back against the workbench, one hand gripping the counter behind him. He shook his head, swallowed, and looked back at Ducky.

"Yeah, well, that's how Jen deals with stuff," he answered curtly. "She runs."

Ducky laughed good-naturedly, shaking his head at Gibbs. He raised his eyes to the ceiling.

"Well, Jethro, that the two of you have in common," he informed Gibbs bluntly, his eyes sparkling in a well-meaning manner.

Gibbs snorted derisively and glared at Ducky, a muscle in his temple throbbing.

"Marines don't _run_," he snapped defensively.

"Not in the technical sense," Ducky agreed. "Not in the sense you are accusing Jennifer of running," he added. "In a broader interpretation of the word, you run by refusing to engage."

"You sayin' I freeze up in combat?" Gibbs growled.

"I am pointing out that snipers are trained to keep their distance in battle," Ducky answered cryptically. His lips turned up in a smile and he kept his eyes on Gibbs.

The former Marine just shook his head. He looked into his mason jar again and then laughed shortly, his brow going up.

"She said the same thing," he admitted. Jenny hadn't exactly used such obnoxious metaphors, but it had been what she'd been getting at when she'd turned down his impromptu proposal. He grit his teeth again—so he hadn't always been the best at relationships. He was better now, and she knew it as well as he did.

He grunted and swallowed the rest of his bourbon, rubbing his forehead roughly.

"I'm worried about her, Duck," he admitted.

"Ah, so that's what's really bothering you," Ducky answered calmly. "You aren't really _mad_ at her."

Gibbs didn't answer right away. He was irritated with Jenny for being all but unreachable, but he was mad on Madeleine's behalf. He knew Madeleine needed to hear from her mother. She wasn't getting that, and it irked him that Jenny would be so selfish as to deprive Madeleine of her comfort, but he also understood—from a different standpoint—that Jenny was trying to cope, and she was trying to cope by detaching herself from the situation.

He knew because he'd been there—the difference was that he had no hope of seeing Kelly ever again, but he understood the technique he was using, and he _was_ worried.

Gibbs frowned and Ducky smiled apologetically.

"Call her, Jethro," he said. "I don't mean call her for Madeleine, I mean call her and reassure her," he explained, rolling his eyes a little. "The two of you are so very stubborn. It's as if you're in a constant fight to see who feels more strongly for the other, and whoever feels the most is the _loser_," Ducky paused and shook his head. "That isn't at all how it should be."

"If that were the fight, she'd win," he said callously, a little Paris-deep bitterness coming out.

He suddenly decided he didn't want to talk about this with Ducky.

"I think it would hurt Jennifer very much to hear you say that," Ducky mused gently.

Gibbs shrugged, already feeling guilty for suggesting Jenny didn't care for him when he knew good and well she did. He cleared his throat, forgoing another shot of whiskey, and compressed his lips thoughtfully.

"You think Madeleine's doin' okay?" he asked gruffly.

"She seems to be adjusting quite well," Ducky answered positively. "She is already much livelier than she was when you first brought here back," he went on. "She speaks English without you reminding her—though I must say, you should make an effort to keep her bilingual."

Gibbs nodded.

"Fornell gave me the information for the day care he and Diane kept Emily in," he said slowly. "You think she'd be ready to start there in the next week?"

"She has to at some point," Ducky said. "She knows that you can't keep her with you all the time, even her mother didn't do that. Is it a good day care?"

Gibbs shrugged.

"Not as fancy as the one Jen had her at in Israel, but it's pricey, so and it passed Diane's tests," he replied, rolling his eyes a little. "She'd only be there a couple days a week. Noemi wants to keep her a day or two," he paused. "I'm going to take her to NCIS once a week," he added.

Ducky raised his eyebrows in surprise, but he didn't question it.

Gibbs was glad he didn't. He wouldn't be able to explain. At this point, Ducky didn't know about Kelly, and so it was simply a conversation Gibbs didn't want to have. He didn't want Madeleine to resent him for working. He wanted to socialize her and for her to make friends and have her own experiences, but he didn't want to miss anything either. She liked NCIS, and he liked to have here there—and until she started grade school, he would let her hang around.

"She is your child, Jethro, you know her best," Ducky said. "But children are resilient, and I think little Madeleine will adjust spectacularly. She seems remarkably in tune with what makes you happy."

"I want _her_ to be happy," Gibbs muttered, turning towards his workbench.

He fell into silence, thinking about Jenny again, and Ducky cleared his throat after a long moment of quiet, shuffling towards the stairs.

"I must be on my way, I'm afraid," he said, lifting his hand. "Mother will be anxious to see her dogs," he added with a wink. The corgis were currently asleep in spacious kennels in Gibbs' back yard.

Gibbs rolled his eyes and nodded to Ducky.

"Appreciate the help, Duck," he said, gesturing to the ceiling and thus, vaguely towards Madeleine's newly furnished bedroom.

"Jethro," Ducky said in answer, "Call Jennifer."

Ducky beamed and gave a small, polite salute as he made his way up the stairs, comfortable enough to let himself out.

Gibbs turned around and leaned forward on the counter, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone. He flipped it open and looked at the weak service his basement gave him, tilting his head critically. His thumb rested over Jenny's speed dial number, hesitant. He had no idea what her schedule was like—another result of them not speaking as much. She might be sleeping. She might be angry if he called and didn't have Madeleine ready to speak to her.

He was about to apply pressure to the number when he heard his door open upstairs. Abby called his name brightly through the house, and the next thing he heard was the energetic, optimistic fluttering of childish footsteps across the floor.

He snapped the phone shut and grinned, turning is head towards the stairs, momentarily struck by the nostalgic sound. It had been a long, painful, lonely thirteen years since he had heard little footsteps on the floor above him, and hearing it now was an unexpected, powerful mixture of bittersweet and healing.

He'd forgotten what it was like to have little feet in the house—he'd been too busy suffocating in the emptiness the lack of Kelly's had left—and he had forgotten that listening to the scampering little feet was one of the best feelings in the world.

* * *

><p>Gibbs walked down the hallway slowly, holding Madeleine's hands above her head and taking carefully, labored steps with her balanced on his feet. She giggled, content to let him pretend he couldn't shake her off of him. She was bathed and clean, her teeth were brushed and her pajamas were on, and she was eager to get tucked in and be read one of the brand new books Abby and Kate had bought for her.<p>

"Let go," Madeleine said wriggling her hands.

He did so, and she hopped off of his feet and darted towards her bed, jumping into the middle of the new quilt and crawling towards her pillows and stuffed animals. He followed her indulgently, crawling up next to her playfully and going in to tickle her sides until she was giggling madly again and begging him for mercy.

"What did you say?" he asked, pausing and listening to her, his ear pressed to her chest.

She squealed and tried to squirm away, burrowing into her pillows.

"Stop the tickles!" she demanded.

"I can't hear you," he drawled, giving her a gentle poke in the side. She squealed again and lifted her head, pushing his hand away with a smile and wrinkling up her nose cutely in assertive resolve. She knew this game. She and Mama used to play it.

He made like he was going to attack her with his fearsome fingers again and she scrambled up onto her knees and glared at him with all the ferocity she could muster.

"Daddy I love you so stop the tickles," she demanded, putting a hand on her hip.

He reached up and ruffled her hair, obediently ceasing his tickling and pulling her into a tight, calm hug. She beamed, and when he let her go, she scooted back towards her pillows, looking around her happily.

"You excited to sleep in your new room, Emmy?" Gibbs asked.

She nodded, picking up her old, well-loved rabbit and hugging it tightly.

He pointed towards the stack of new books by her rocking horse.

"Go pick out a book, and I'll turn down the covers for you," he said.

She nodded and got up, carrying the rabbit with her to inspect the new books Abby and Kate had bought for her. Gibbs adjusted her pillows and pulled back her quilt and sheets, making a nice little space for her to snuggle up with pillows and stuffed animals and sleep comfortably. She finally selected a brightly coloured book and climbed back into the bed, carefully to avoid the small raised guards he'd installed in the sides to keep her from tumbling out.

He patted the pillows for her and she laid down, placing the book in his lap and hugging the rabbit to her. She looked up at him patiently, and yawned. He picked up the story book and squinted, reading the title to himself.

_If You Give a Moose a Muffin._

"Hmmm," Gibbs muttered seriously. "I wonder what happens," he said, raising an eyebrow at Madeleine. She covered her mouth and raised her eyebrows, shrugging excitedly. Her eyes sparkled, and he decided that now was as good a time as any to broach a few sensitive subjects with her. "Hey, princess," he said, poking her legs a little. "Scooch over."

"Can I sit in your lap?" She asked, sitting up more and making room.

He nodded and pulled her into his lap, pulling her head back against his chest and looking down at her.

"Starting to feel more like home?" he asked gruffly.

She smiled uncertainly.

"I like my room," she answered shyly.

"Good," he said, crinkling his nose at her. He tilted his head a little. "Emmy, did you like going to school in Israel?" he asked.

She nodded.

"You think you might like going to school here?"

She frowned.

"Strangers," she whispered.

He nodded sympathetically.

"I know, honey," he said. "But Abby was a stranger until you got to know her," he reminded Madeleine. "And Kate, and Noemi, and McGee—"

"Timmy!" interrupted Madeleine happily.

"Timmy," repeated Gibbs, with a bit of a grimace. It felt odd calling his probationary agent by such a childish, familiar moniker. Gibbs nodded again and ploughed on. "I can't always take you to work with me, just like Mom couldn't take you with her," he explained.

She looked down at her book and sighed, leaning closer to him hesitantly.

"I like be with you," she said uncertainly.

"Yeah?" he asked, smirking down at her. "I like you there, too," he assured her. "But it can be scary at work, and you'll have more fun playing with other little girls your age."

"And boys," Madeleine reminded him.

"Nope, just girls," Gibbs said, glaring at her playfully. She laughed and buried her face in her rabbit. After a moment, she lifted her head and looked up at him, frowning a little.

"How much at school?" she asked warily.

"A few days, like in Israel," he replied. "You get to spend three days at school, and one day with Noemi, and I'll let you come with me to work one day a week," he said. He smiled and raised his eyebrows. "Then we get all weekend together."

Madeleine looked at him uncertainly for a long time, her eyes green and thoughtful. She yawned again, and then looked back at the book in his lap and tapped it matter-of-factly.

"Okay," she said shortly.

"Okay?" he asked, surprised.

She nodded, mumbled something to herself in Hebrew, and then yawned again, letting him open the book and laying her head on his heart.

"I come with you on Monday," she said, a weird Hebrew inflection on her words. "Maddah-lynn Monday."

Gibbs laughed, turning to the first worded page of the book. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and laid his cheek there for a moment before he wrapped his arms around her so he could hold the book out for both of them to see and, narrowing his eyes, began to read.

* * *

><p>Jenny leaned over the pages of intelligence she'd been presented with just moments ago and narrowed her eyes, swearing silently at the strain she had to put on her eyes to read. Before her pregnancy, she'd had flawless vision—after Madeleine, things had started to go downhill, and yet she was too proud and too stubborn to admit that she probably needed glasses.<p>

She pursed her lips, perplexed by the scratchy, unclear, photocopied Arabic writing.

"Is this all we have?" she asked abruptly.

"Agent Holland was able to get anything else," Fitzgerald informed her gravely. "He had to get out of there before he was compromised."

She nodded curtly, impressed with what they'd gotten all the same. She straightened up and looked at Agent Fitzgerald, known as 'Fitz' around Cairo, and smiled a little.

"I heard Holland had a run-in with Mossad," she remarked.

Fitz groaned.

"He tried to stay out of their way, but your instructions failed him," Fitz told her. "They ended up executing a different method than you said they would."

"Hmm," murmured Jenny. She thought for a moment, remembering how impossibly insightful and knowledgeable Mossad's intelligence had always been. Perhaps they had known she would inform her team, and had switched at the last moment? Jenny shook her head and laughed sarcastically, shrugging. "That's Mossad for you, Fitzgerald," she said coolly.

Jenny folded up the intelligence and handed it back to him.

"Get it to a translator," she ordered. "I'll get some of my contacts on the line, and we'll see if we can figure out what the buzz is about London, maybe prevent something big," she continued, nodding as Fitzgerald obediently took the pages of script from her. Then, before Fitzgerald could leave, she stopped him with a casual question: "How's your son?"

He looked surprised.

"He's good," Fitzgerald answered carefully. "Just made the baseball team, and he's a freshman," Fitzgerald bragged proudly.

Jenny gave him a ghost of a smile.

"Glad to hear it," she said. "I'll speak with the Director, and there will be a briefing at some point later this week."

He gave her a silly sort of salute and left the control room; Jenny left through another door, giving a greener, diligently working agent a nod and making her way to her office. Once there, she collapsed into her chair, exhausted, and leaned back, pressing her palm to her forehead.

Counterterrorism was harder than anything she'd ever done before, and she'd been a Mossad liaison. The difference was, she was in charge here—at least to a certain extent, but her job wasn't an office job per se. She was a fully active, weapon-carrying team leader as well as an administrative director in certain senses; she was required to be in the field as well as communicating and strategizing with other agencies that NCIS might come across in operations.

It was stressful, at the very least, and a daunting, terrible responsibility in others. There were many whose very lives she was accountable for. She hadn't been in the job very long, and she was beginning to wonder if she really did want that Director's Chair she'd originally left Gibbs for so long ago.

Her violent obsession with La Grenouille had cooled, but her ambition for a career was still there—she was utterly unsure if she'd have been happy if she'd chosen to take a safe position in the states, or if Gibbs pushing her to take this promotion was a blessing, a balm for their relationship that ensured there'd be no resentment in the future.

Jenny sat forward and opened her desk drawer, taking a framed photo of Madeleine out and holding it up in front of her. She smiled sadly and touched the glass, her fingers gently running over the curve of Madeleine's smiling lips, and her chubby cheeks, and her thin, auburn hair. She was still having trouble calling. She was better at running away from pain; she had always been better at running.

She checked her watch, and with nothing to do for the next four hours, she reached into her pocket and picked up her cell phone, placing the photo of her daughter in her lap. She punched in Jethro's number and waited. It would be nearing bedtime in the states, and it was as good a time as any to call.

The dial tone stopped and she caught her breath.

"Ima?" Madeleine's curious voice burst through the speakers. "Ima? Mama? Daddy tells me it's you!" she cried, before Jenny could get in a word in edgewise.

An ear-splitting grin spread across the redhead's lips, and she bit her cheek a little in a weak attempt to control it.

"It's me, ahuva," she said brightly, a warm rush of relief and good feeling igniting in her veins. "Madeleine, I miss you! I _really_ miss you, how are you?"

Jenny sat back, settling in, and bit her lip, ready to listen to Madeleine chatter away.

* * *

><p>"I want to sit up there with you, Aba," Madeleine said.<p>

Gibbs glanced in his rear view mirror and smiled to himself. She was sitting in her car seat, her arms folded pertly across her chest, glaring out the window. He shook his head, turning his eye back to the road diligently and making a turn.

"It's not safe for little girls up here, Emmy," he answered placidly.

"Big girl," she reminded him sassily.

"Okay," he answered, amending his statement. "It's not safe for big girls, either."

He smirked smugly.

"Come sit by me."

"Daddy has to drive the car."

She made a thoughtful noise and then sighed, and reached over to the window, tapping her fingers against it.

"Aba, we make Pony drive the car," she decided firmly.

Gibbs laughed, nodding in agreement with her statement. He parked the car, killed the engine, and got out, walking around to the back to help Madeleine out of her car seat. She had unbuckled the belt and straps and patiently waited for him to pick her up. She held out her arms to him and he grinned at her and swung her onto his hip, shutting the door tightly and taking the familiar, usually dreadful walk up to the gates of Arlington cemetery.

He stopped right outside of the entrance and crouched, setting Madeleine on her feet. She squealed in protest and kept her arms around his neck.

"Carry me," she said.

"Emmy, it's hot," he said practically. "You're a big girl, you can walk."

"Aba!" she whined, stomping a foot. "I do not know this place. Carry me," she insisted.

He tilted his head and reached up, gently prying her hands off of his neck. He held them in his and squeezed, standing up. She planted her feet and made as if she were going to refuse to walk. He let go of her hand and glanced down, raising an eyebrow.

"Madeleine, I'll leave you right here," he said calmly. "Come on, hold my hand," he said, presenting it to her again. She glared at it, as if calling his bluff. He squared his shoulders and turned, taking a few steps away. It worked beautifully; she darted forward and the next thing he knew she was holding tight to his fingers.

She frowned.

He grinned at her.

"That is tricky," she informed him cutely, narrowing her eyes. She walked close to his leg, looking all around them. Curiously, her eyes widened as she took in the repetitive, well-kept landscape. Her fingers wriggled in his and she hummed quietly, occasionally murmuring the Hebrew words to a children's song.

Gibbs made sure he kept a firm hold on her hand, but his mind drifted a little as he led her towards the place where Shannon and Kelly were buried. He had told her that he where he was taking her today, but he didn't think she'd understood. He didn't really expect her to. He hadn't told Jenny he was doing this; he wasn't sure he was prepared for it himself. It was something he needed to do.

Madeleine had been in his sole custody for three weeks or so, and he had been stoically ignoring how unbelievably difficult it was to take care of her. He had no qualms about his ability; he was just coming to the realization that being a father was infinitely more difficult than he remembered.

He realized that the first time around, Shannon has been the primary caregiver. Shannon had been the involved, ever-present, stable figure in Kelly's life, and he had been the typical breadwinner with the added strain of being deployed for many important parts in Kelly's short childhood.

He was tired. He found it easy to get frustrated with Madeleine for things that weren't her fault. He kept feeling the irritating need to call Jenny and ask questions or get advice, and that made him feel incompetent. He worried he was being too hard on her, and then he worried he was being too soft on her.

The worst thing that happened, though, was when she did something particularly obnoxious or cute—either of the two—that reminded him of Kelly. It struck him heavily in the stomach and made him lose his breath for a moment.

And last night, last night has confirmed his shaky feeling that he needed to introduce Madeleine to the idea of Shannon and Kelly, because last night Madeleine had come into his room, unable to sleep and missing Jenny, and she'd woken him up—startled him—and he had looked at her, taken aback and groggy, and _called_ her Kelly.

He knew he had to clear his head. He had to find some way to face his demons that was healthy, because with Madeleine in the house, he wasn't at liberty to drink himself into a numb stupor.

"Hey, Maddie," he said, turning and tugging her in his direction. "This way, honey," he coaxed.

She skipped along next to him, her singing ceasing.

"Where are we going?" she asked brightly.

He didn't answer for a minute, and then he pointed a little ahead of them.

"Right there, under those trees," he said.

"Wait!" Madeleine cried, yanking her hand out of his suddenly. She crouched by the path and pointed, looking up at him and squinting in the sun. "May I pick the flower?" she asked hopefully, pointing to a lone dandelion growing amongst the grass.

Gibbs nodded, and Madeleine carefully plucked the flower from its bed, gently enough so she wouldn't harm any of the bright yellow petals. She straightened up, beamed, and tucked the flower behind her ear. He brushed her hair off her forehead and smiled.

"Not much further," he coaxed, taking her hand again.

"Oh, good," she said, breathing out. "It is hot," she informed him calmly, walking out beside him and stretching his arm a little. He led her just off the path and over to one of the shady, full-grown trees that peppered Arlington, stopping right at his late family's immaculate white headstones and standing in front of the fallen log that had been there since they'd been interred.

He let go of Madeleine's hand and sat down on the log heavily, pulling her close to his knees and smiling softly. He looked at her green eyes, her slightly tangled auburn hair, and the flower she'd just tucked into her hair. There were days she looked just like Jenny, and then there were days she looked so much like Kelly that it frightened him.

Thankfully, today, she looked like Jenny.

She raised her eyebrows at him and reached out and touched his nose, crinkling hers and puckering her lips up.

"Hi, Daddy," she whispered playfully.

"Hi," he said back, shaking his head a little. Her finger fell and he kissed it, turning her a little and pointing to the gravestones. She looked at them tilting her head a little.

"Madeleine," he said quietly. "I want you to know about Shannon and Kelly."

Madeleine snapped her head back to him with interest, her eyes searching his. She furrowed her brow. She waited patiently for him to continue, sensing that there was more to be said. Gibbs swallowed and then smiled at her half-heartedly.

"Kelly is my other little girl," he said hoarsely. "She's your sister."

Madeleine smiled. She looked back at the stones, and wriggled away from him a little, stepping forward. She turned back to him, somewhat confused.

"Where?" she asked.

Gibbs leaned forward on his knees, his brow furrowing.

"Kelly isn't here anymore, Madeleine," he said tensely. "She was taken away from me a long time ago."

Madeleine looked at him uncertainly.

"Daddy, go get other little girl back," she said earnestly.

"I can't," he said, forcing the words out of his constricted throat. "I want to—"

"But why not?" Madeleine demanded, eyes widening.

"I can't have Kelly back, Emmy. She had an accident and she didn't get better," he said, struggling to be able to explain it. He leaned forward, connecting it suddenly. "She had an accident like Tali did. You and Kelly are like Tali and Ziva."

Madeleine stared at him, a glint of understanding sparking in her green eyes.

She went towards the stones and crouched, running her fingers over the neat lettering. She touched Shannon's, tilting her head.

"Sandy?" she asked. "Sandy is another girl?"

"Shannon," Gibbs corrected patiently. "Shannon is Kelly's mommy," he told her. "She didn't get better, either," he paused. "She was my wife."

Madeleine turned, still crouched like a curious little monkey, and her mouth opened while she searched for a question.

"What is wife?" she asked.

He lifted his eyebrows; momentarily distracted from the emotional strain this was dragging him through. It had never occurred to him that Madeleine might have no concept of wives or husbands or marriage—but now that she asked, he realized she had never been in a setting in which it had come up. He and Jenny weren't married, and none of her immediate circle at Mossad had been.

"Wife," he said gruffly, searching for something appropriate to say. He shrugged, deciding to put it in terms she could understand right now, and then discuss it a little later, when she was older. "She was a woman I loved, so we promised to stay in love forever," he said, cringing a little.

"Oh," Madeleine said softly. She sat down, rubbing her hands in the dirt in front of her, a consternated look overtaking her small face. She bit her lip and stared at him again, her mind working intently to understand. "But she died," Madeleine said. "Tali died," she added forlornly.

Gibbs nodded, gritting his teeth for the sake of exerting some control over himself.

Madeleine squinted in the sun.

"Kelly is my sister?" she asked, pointing to herself. "Kelly is my Tali?"

"Yes," Gibbs answered.

Madeleine looked at Kelly's headstone. She sucked in her breath and got up, clumsily brushing dirt off of her. She darted forward and threw herself into Gibbs' knees, hugging him and resting her chin on him.

"It is sad, Aba," she said solemnly, her lip trembling.

"It is very sad," he agreed solemnly. He reached out and ruffled her hair, letting his hand rest on the crown of her head lightly. She reached up and played with the flower in her hair, and then stood, skipping away from him. She plucked it from her ear, placed it on the top of Kelly's stone, and then walked back to him, smirking proudly.

"I gave Kelly the flower," she said.

He smiled at her.

"She would like that," he answered her, helping her when she suddenly decided to climb onto his lap.

"Aba, you want a hug?" she asked.

He smirked and nodded, and she spread her arms wide and squeezed his shoulders, laughing when he buried his face playfully in her shoulder and nipped at her with his gums, growling teasingly.

"Aba," she said, leaning back thoughtfully. "Aba, is Mama your wife?" he asked.

"No," he answered honestly, shaking his head.

Madeleine looked uncertain.

"You love _my_ Mama?" she asked hesitantly.

He tilted his head at her, stroking her cheek with his finger lightly. He smiled a little and nodded, shrugging his shoulders a bit in defeat. It wasn't what Jenny wanted, but it was a step. She was thousands of miles away and couldn't hear it, but here he was admitting it again.

"Yes. I do," he answered bluntly.

She smiled, relief flickering in her green eyes.

"Okay," she said sweetly. She slipped off of his knees. "I shall go talk to Kelly," she informed him, one hand on her hip.

Taken aback, he let her go. He watched her, his elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward. He reached up and rubbed his jaw, eventually covering his mouth. He watched Madeleine scamper around looking for more flowery things in the grass, chattering in Hebrew without a care in the world, and then his eyes fell to Shannon's headstone and he flicked his eyes up, handling the tightening in his chest and throat surprisingly well.

He swallowed, pushed his palm up to his hair, and then glanced up, squinting in the sun—and he felt a little more at peace because somehow, he knew, that she was okay with this; Shannon would want him to be happy, and Madeleine and Jenny made him happy—and he understood that he had to stop feeling guilty about that.

* * *

><p>Jenny could have thrown her cell phone against the wall as she furiously paced the floor of her Cairo apartment, her jaw set in tense frustration. She licked her lips and took a breath before regaining her calm and pausing in her erratic movements.<p>

"Ziva, I am just asking this one, small—"

"You are no longer privy to that kind of information, Jenny, I cannot help you," Ziva interrupted, abrupt and cool. "There are bits of information I can provide you with; that is not one of them."

"I need to know, Ziva!" Jenny lashed out in violent Hebrew. "It could mean the life or death of my team, in this case!"

"Tough tangerines."

Jenny paused.

"The phrase is 'tough cookies'," she growled tightly. "Where the hell did you get tangerines?"

"I _like_ tangerines."

"You can't just change American colloquialisms to fit your liking—and you can't leave me in the dark with Intel this important! My team is counting on me to come through with my contacts!"

"This is not as important as you think it is, Jenny," Ziva replied cryptically. "I can say no more on this matter. I will, however, talk with you about tangerines, if you wish."

Jenny could have screamed. She pulled the phone away, pressed her hand to her mouth, and then held the device back to her ear, taking a moment to calm herself again.

"You're going to need an informant one day, Officer David," she snapped at her former partner. "I won't be so inclined to help you out."

"You will," Ziva said sharply. "You are indebted to me," she reminded Jenny. "I divulged information to you on September eleventh."

The redhead swore to herself, but she calmed somewhat. She took a deep breath, fluttered her lashes, and licked her lips again.

"Shalom, Ziva," she said, ending the conversation. She knew Ziva would hang up without saying a goodbye, so she snapped her phone shut—and chucked it across the room at the wall. Her team was going to be irked that she hadn't been able to get any insider information, for all her high and mighty connections to Mossad.

She just needed to know where Haswari was—it was that simple! Mossad was being particularly cagey and unreasonable involving him, and it was beginning to set off alarm bells in her head—in that part of her head that Gibbs had rooted himself into.

Jenny sat down on her sofa and fumed half-heartedly in her dark, clean apartment. She hated how clean her damn apartment was. She was personally incapable of making messes, but Madeleine had been more than glad to do it for her. There should be little girl's shoes and toys and blankets scattered all over, but there was nothing but empty coffee cups.

Her cell phone rang, and after glaring balefully for a moment, she forced herself to get up and answer it.

"You change your mind?" she barked in Hebrew, assuming it was Ziva.

"Hell no, I'm keeping her forever," Gibbs answered, without missing a beat. He paused, waiting for her reaction, and then snorted lightly, while she relaxed and smiled tiredly, glad to hear his voice. "I think I'm past changing my mind, Jen."

She let out her breath and laughed.

"I take it she's forgotten all about me, then?" she asked.

"Not quite," Gibbs retorted. "But don't worry, I'll have erased you from her memory within the month."

Jenny rolled her eyes at him. She sat down on her couch, stretched out, and rolled onto her side, checking her watch for the time. She yawned, giving in to a bit of exhaustion.

"Madeleine better be in bed, Jethro," she warned.

"She is," he assured her. "Safe and sound, and she didn't ask me to stay tonight," he added smugly, clearly quite pleased with the accomplishment.

"She's content with the room you gave her?"

"Think so."

"I want to see pictures," Jenny requested longingly. "She sounded so excited on the phone, right after you finished it? And who was it who took her shopping?"

"Abby Sciuto and Kate Todd," Gibbs answered warily. "They spoiled her," he grumbled.

"She needs some people in her life to spoil her," Jenny murmured earnestly. "You know, Jethro, she doesn't have any family besides you and me."

Gibbs didn't answer her immediately, and she could almost hear him reluctantly deciding how to respond.

"She has a grandfather," he said finally, annoyance in his voice.

Jenny's brows went up in a little surprise, and she pursed her lips.

"Your dad?"

"Well, sure ain't yours, Jen," he reminded her sarcastically. "Yeah. He lives up in Pennsylvania."

Jenny bit her lip, siting up a little. She curled against the arm of the couch, pushing her hair behind her ears and rubbing her knees.

"Does he know about her?" she asked uncertainly.

Gibbs made a noise that she translated, with some amusement, as an audible cringe.

"Define _know_."

"Jethro," she snapped softly.

"No," Gibbs answered gruffly. He was silent a little longer, and then seemed to relent. "I'm takin' her up to meet him in a few weeks," he admitted. "Figured I'd wait until Israel's a somewhat distant memory and she gets comfortable here. It's only fair to tell him."

"Fair is an understatement," Jenny murmured, cocking an eyebrow. Still, she bit her lip, touched that he'd volunteered such personal information, and heartened by the fact that he was willing to connect Madeleine to a part of his life he'd kept hidden from her. It was the kind of moving on she was looking for from him, in order to feel wholly secure in their relationship.

She yawned again.

"You miss me, Jethro?" she asked, smiling a little. "Is that why you're calling while Madeleine's asleep?"

"I miss you," he allowed flippantly, agreeing with her. "Not why I called. Don't mind hearin' your voice, though," he added, almost as an afterthought.

She pursed her lips, flattered.

"Why are you calling so late?" she coaxed gently.

"Took Madeleine to Arlington today," he said abruptly, in a steeled tone.

"What's in Arlington?" Jenny asked through a yawn. She sucked in her breath and winced, trying to hurry the yawn along enough to backtrack and fix her error—she knew what was in Arlington—but he was already gruffly answering:

"Shannon and Kelly."

"Oh, Jethro," she sighed, biting her lip.

She suddenly wished she could just curl up next to him—even if he didn't want to talk, or even look at her. She wished she could just _be_ there.

"Did she understand?" Jenny asked softly.

"Yeah," Gibbs answered slowly. "Yeah, in her own way. Told her Kelly was her sister, like Tali is Ziva's."

"That's a good way to put it into a perspective she can comprehend," Jenny murmured. "You didn't have to do this, Jethro."

"Yes, I did," he said coolly, and fell silent. "It's a start," he said after a minute, his words laced with the pain she sometimes saw in his eyes. "Jen, Madeleine means the world to me," he said suddenly; earnestly.

She bit her lip and her eyes stung.

"I know," she said intensely—because she did know, she knew _exactly_ how he felt. Madeleine meant the world to her, too.

The silence that fell after their charged exchange was tangible, and she didn't feel it was her place to say anything.

"Madeleine asked if we were married," he said bluntly, breaking the fragile moment.

Jenny laughed, tilting her head back, a genuine smile spreading across her lips.

"Jethro!" she admonished, her words punctured with laughter. "What sort of technique _is_ that?"

"Technique?" he scoffed innocently.

"I told you I wouldn't marry you, so you employ subtle manipulation in the form of our three-year-old ball of adorable?"

"Jen, she seriously asked me that."

"This is emotional terrorism!"

Gibbs snorted, pleased with her laughter.

"Fine, Jenny, laugh," he said in mock rudeness. "Next time she asks, you get to explain your hang-ups."

"Yeah, Jethro, right after you tell her why Daddy's already had three wives," she bit back cleverly.

The next thing she knew, he was laughing in her ear, apparently infinitely entertained by her jibe.

He sucked it up, though, and lowered his voice seriously.

"Jen," he said gravely, though she was positive he had his signature smirk on her face. "Madeleine doesn't have a chance in hell."

Jenny grinned, biting her index finger lightly and crinkling her nose.

"Don't be such a pessimist, Agent Gibbs, we'll put the _fun_ in dysfunctional," she drawled, rolling her own eyes at the cheesiness of the joke—but lame quip or not, his phone call was a bright spot in her stressful day, and she meant to milk it for what it was worth.

* * *

><p>Kate glared across the bullpen at her colleague, tapping a pen in irritation against her lips as she sorted through piles and piles of information on their latest body. She narrowed her eyes finally, shooting an annoyed look at Gibbs' empty desk, and then leaned forward.<p>

"You two can't just ignore your work," she hissed petulantly. "I'm not doing all of this by myself!"

"Yes, you are," DiNozzo pointed out blithely, craning his neck and peering at her from behind his desk. Kate had, in fact, been doing all of the work for about thirty minutes now—since she had Gibbs had come back from interviewing a family member, and Gibbs had disappeared down to autopsy.

"Kate, it isn't our fault Madeleine likes us better," McGee piped up, his head barely visible from behind DiNozzo's desk.

She grit her teeth and pursed her lips, still glaring daggers at DiNozzo's desk. When she and Gibbs had come back, Madeleine had been sitting by McGee's desk with a colouring book, and DiNozzo and McGee had been working. Gibbs' return had riled her up, though, and when he'd disappeared again she decided she needed attention to assuage the loss, and was demanding it of both of the men.

Kate tried to pretend she was simply miffed because she was doing all of the work, but secretly she was a little bit jealous that Madeleine wanted to play with them and seemed to show no interest in her.

Kate got up and prowled over, looking over DiNozzo's desk into the little nook behind it. She tried to maintain a fearsome look, but it was a hard thing to do when McGee was sitting there with a stuffed bunny in his lap dutifully helping Madeleine colour some ponies, and DiNozzo was gallantly handing crayons to the child with a butterfly clip in his hair—which Madeleine had transferred from her hair to his.

Madeleine looked up and beamed her pretty smile.

"Shalom, Kate," she said brightly.

"Emmy," DiNozzo said seriously, "Tell Kate to get back to work, or your Dad will be mad at her."

Madeleine looked at him with wide eyes, holding her crayon tightly. She got up on her knees and pointed back to Kate's desk.

"Back to work, Kate!" she said earnestly.

"Does Gibbs ever get mad at you?" McGee asked Madeleine conversationally, colouring in a pony's mane. He held out his palm and Madeleine traded his green crayon in for a purple one, demanding silently that he continue colouring.

"No, no, no," Madeleine answered happily, shaking her head back and forth. "Aba never mad at Maddie," she paused and giggled, amused by the word's similarity to her own name. She lowered her voice and peaked at Tony secretively.

"Teach me your ways, young one," DiNozzo said seriously.

Kate rolled her eyes and paced back to her desk, standing behind it with her palms flat on the surface. Madeleine giggled amiably and Kate was just starting to sit back down with the elevator _pinged_! and Gibbs came storming around the corner. Kate scrambled back into a sitting position and opened her mouth to rat out the boys.

Gibbs didn't need her to tattletale, though; he was already slowing to a stop right at DiNozzo's desk, the autopsy file in one of his hands. He peered over the desk, arched an eyebrow, and took in the scene. DiNozzo squeaked and elbowed McGee, not as confident that they were allowed to forgo work and play with the kid now that the boss was staring at them with his steely no-nonsense glare.

Madeleine looked up and then scrambled up.

"Daddy, you're back!" she announced brightly. She stepped onto DiNozzo's knees and roughly used his head and shoulders to climb onto his desk and irreverently launch herself at Gibbs over the keyboard, stapler, and other office supplies.

"Hey, hey, hey," Gibbs admonished gruffly, throwing the file on DiNozzo's desk so he could have both free hands to grab up his daughter before she fell. "Be careful, don't just step all over DiNozzo's desk."

"Pony not care, he likes me!" Madeleine insisted, blowing air out of her lips to get hair out of her face.

"Pony has work to do," Gibbs growled, giving DiNozzo a pointed look. McGee and Tony stood up as well, looking uncertain. McGee still had a crayon behind his ear. Tony did not look pleased that Gibbs had chosen to adopt Madeleine's nickname for him.

Gibbs glared at them for a moment longer, and then reached over and snapped Madeleine's clip out of DiNozzo's hair and handed it back to his daughter.

"No," Madeleine whined, pushing it back towards DiNozzo. "I made Pony pretty."

DiNozzo winced.

Gibbs smirked at him and carried Madeleine over to his desk, opening a drawer and replacing his weapon and badge in it. He shut it and straightened up, giving Madeleine a pointed look.

"You _tried_," he said. "He can't be helped," he added wryly. Kate snorted; McGee grinned. Gibbs pointed at the two men and gave them a look. "You two, help Kate," he ordered, walking back towards the elevator.

"Abby wants to see you, missy," he said to Madeleine, as he slowed and pressed the button to call for the elevator.

"Daddy, that's not my name," Madeleine informed him seriously.

Gibbs just grinned, and stepped onto the elevator with her.

* * *

><p>Abby snatched Madeleine from Gibbs before he was even through the door and pranced into her office with the little girl, where she promptly began to hand Madeleine a mini caf-<em>pow<em>!—which Gibbs intercepted immediately.

"I don't think so," he admonished seriously, holding the dangerously caffeinated concoction away from his three-year-old.

"Gibbs, relax!" Abby said brightly, snatching the drink back. "What kind of Abby do you think I am? It's only a slushy," she said proudly. "A caffeine free slushy."

Gibbs lifted an eyebrow skeptically, but allowed the Goth to hand Madeleine her little treat with a watchful eye.

"I'm just waiting for your tests to finish up, Gibbs," Abby said dutifully, sitting down in her desk chair and holding Madeleine on her lap. She moved her feet excitedly and swayed back and forth in the chair, grinning mischievously.

"How long?"

"About three hours," Abby answered apologetically. She looked down at Madeleine and raised her eyebrows happily. "I have a surprise for you while we wait for your Dad's forensics!"

The lab rat looked up at Gibbs with wide, business-like green eyes and waved her hand at him.

"Your presence isn't needed anymore, _el jefe_," she said matter-of-factly. "Shoo."

"What are you going to do with her?" Gibbs asked suspiciously.

"Nothing that would interest _you_," Abby retorted, getting up and pushing Gibbs out the door with the hand that wasn't holding Madeleine. He looked reluctant, but her trusted Abby—and he needed to get some work done. Even when she was being good or napping, it was difficult to get work done when Madeleine was at work with him. "Don't worry, Gibbs, no harm will come to her. Just knowledge."

Gibbs looked at Abby intently and then leaned forward and kissed the top of Madeleine's head.

"You be good," he said sternly, touching her gently under the chin and arching an eyebrow.

"Yes, sir," she said sweetly, blowing him a kiss. He waved at her, nodded at Abby, and retreated back to the bullpen.

Abby squealed and darted back into her lab with Madeleine, letting the little girl down to stand on her own. Abby pulled out a cardboard box of supplies and sat down on the floor, cross-legged, with Madeleine, spreading out a few old newspapers on the floor.

"Sit down with me, little Gibbs!" Abby said encouragingly, patting the floor next to her.

Madeleine did so, her eyes big and curious. She touched the newspaper, made it crinkle, and then looked up at the bouncy forensic scientist seriously.

"Abby, you know I go to school tomorrow," she said soberly.

"I know," Abby sighed. She ruffled Madeleine's hair. "That's why I'm making the most of your last day here," she added.

"Maddie Mondays!" Madeleine reminded her.

"That is right, sweetie, you still get to visit once a week! You'll have to tell me all about your new fancy day school. I bet your Dad scouted out the best one for you," Abby went on brightly, taking some more supplies out of the box. "What's your favorite colour?"

"Green," Madeleine responded.

"Cool, keep it interesting," Abby said. "Yesterday it was blue!"

Madeleine picked up a plastic spoon from the newspaper-covered floor and looked up at Abby, holding it against her nose and giggling. She tilted her head and puckered her lips, pulling the spoon away for a moment.

"What are we playing, Abby?" she asked politely.

"Madeleine, we're going to play with science!" Abby answered brightly. "I'm going to teach a little about matter so you'll be smarter than all the other kids. We're going to make _goo_!"

* * *

><p>Gibbs had been confident Madeleine was ready to start at the day care center Diane and Fornell had recommended, but after the morning they had, he wasn't so sure anymore. It wasn't that it had been a bad morning, but Madeleine had been very quiet, and when she did speak, it was mostly in Hebrew—something she had stopped doing since she got more comfortable. He'd spend the whole morning coaxing her to eat, coaxing her to get dressed, coaxing her to speak English, etc. He was going to be late for work at this point, but he didn't care.<p>

He parked his car in a garage right across from the day care. He'd been up to Fairfax over the weekend to register Madeleine and let her get a feel for the place, but there hadn't been many children around then. Jenny had pulled some strings to get Madeleine a place at the day care, as it was a sought-after childcare option for parents in the area. There was a promising playground right at the entrance.

Gibbs pointed it out as he shut Madeleine's door and took her hand. She looked at it listlessly and then turned to him, hugging his knee.

He frowned and picked her up, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he carried her towards the building. He was wary of traffic crossing the road, and went right in to find the teacher for Madeleine's assigned group—penguins. There were quite a few other parents around dropping off their kids, though most of them were clearly used to the place already.

Gibbs stepped off to the side with Madeleine.

"Hey," he said gently. "You okay, honey?" he asked.

"It's loud here," Madeleine said, laying her head on his shoulder. "No Pony, No Ziva, No Mama," she sighed unhappily.

Gibbs took it to mean she was tired of people taking her away from everyone she was used to.

He smiled sympathetically and stroked her hair back.

"It's just like when you started at the Montessori school in Israel," he soothed comfortingly. "It will get better, and you'll make friends."

"I miss Mimi," she informed him, burying her face in his shoulder.

He sighed and gently pried her off of him, couching down and setting her on the floor. She made an annoyed noise of protest, and he was about to soothe her when someone called his name.

Surprised, he looked up, his brow furrowed darkly—he had met with some of the staff, but someone calling him…had he heard right?

"Mr. Jethro!"

It turned out he had, because he heard it again.

Gibbs looked up in cautious confusion, distracted, and Madeleine walked straight between his knees into his chest and buried her face in his shoulder moodily. Absently, he patted her shoulder, squinting at the young woman who slowed to a stop just in front of him.

She wore khaki shorts and a crisp, emerald green George Mason Child Development Center collared shirt; her long, curly blonde hair was tucked behind her ears and she looked at him with earnest but hesitant blue eyes, her hands clasped nervously in front of her.

"Hi," she breathed, waving a little.

He straightened a little, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. He thought he recognized her; the memory was just escaping him, though, he was still so caught up in Madeleine's sudden reticence. He didn't say anything back for a moment, and then he nodded curtly and said:

"Hi."

It must have been clear from his tone that he was wary of her, because she tucked her hair behind her ears nervously—even though the motion wasn't necessary—and cleared her throat, clasping her hands again.

"Um, maybe you don't remember me," she began hesitantly. "I'm Maddie Tyler," she introduced, fidgeting with her hands again. He remembered her instantly, almost before she said it, and he didn't need the reminder but she gave it to him anyway: "I was Kelly's best friend."

He nodded his head, setting his jaw squarely, and just taking a moment to look at her. It was a surreal experience to be slapped with the reminder that Kelly should be as old as this girl in front of him was—nineteen, finishing up a freshman year of college, healthy, alive, happy. He cleared his throat, and Maddie's smile faded a little.

"At least, I like to think I was her best friend," she said quietly. "I think she thought of me that way," she added uncertainly.

Gibbs cleared his throat again.

"I remember you," he assured her, and her smile reappeared twice as bright. "You lived on base."

She nodded, beaming.

"My father was an officer," she added.

Gibbs nodded.

"Good man," he complimented, remembering Maddie's father well.

Gibbs stood up, and Madeleine transferred her hug to his knee again, burying her face there. Gibbs kept his hand on her head, but focused instead on blonde, grown-up Maddie, hoping that his attention to her would make his daughter jealous and draw her out of her shell.

"He died a few years ago," Maddie Tyler said nostalgically, smiling sadly. "He didn't get to see me graduate," she added, shrugging a little. Maddie Tyler tucked her hair behind her ears again, biting her lip in the silence that fell.

"You go to school here?" Gibbs asked gruffly.

She shook her head.

"No, I'm a student at Georgetown," she told him. "I work here in the summers."

He nodded, and gave her a small smile.

"Good to see you again, Maddie," he said sincerely.

She smiled, her eyes lighting up.

"It's kind of weird, that I'd see you here," she admitted. She tilted her head and looked down at Madeleine. She bit her lip again, obviously unsure about her next question. She looked at him uncertainly and wrinkled her nose a little. "I am trying really hard not to be offensive or insensitive," she admitted. "Is she your daughter?"

Gibbs nodded, and Maddie looked relieved.

"She's shy," Gibbs informed the blonde, stating the obvious.

He looked down, and found Madeleine was looking at Maddie Tyler with curiosity, though still holding close to Gibbs' leg. He pushed her hair out of her face and tilted his head, pointing at Maddie in a friendly way.

Maddie Tyler bent forward a little and smiled, waving at Madeleine.

"Hi there," she said. "I'm Maddie, I'll be one of your teachers today," she introduced gently.

Maddie Tyler held out her hand, and Madeleine looked at it, shooting a confused glance at Gibbs. He nodded at her encouragingly.

"Tell her your name," he said.

He made the sign for safe—though he hadn't used it in a while—and pointed toward Maddie Tyler again, and Madeleine released her grip on his leg a little, taking a deep breath. She pressed a hand to her chest.

"I am Maddah-lynn," she said.

Maddie Tyler raised her eyebrows.

"What a cool name, it's almost like mine!" Maddie said brightly. "Do people call you Maddie?"

Madeleine shook her head. She touched Gibbs' hand.

"Only Daddy," she insisted. "No nicknames," she informed Maddie, sounding just like Jenny when she said it. Jenny loathed the idea of nicknames, and really only tolerated Jethro's calling Madeleine by anything other than her full, given name. Jenny was going to be decidedly annoyed if and when she found out that his team was already calling her by her nicknames.

Maddie nodded, pursing her lips seriously.

"Okay, Madeleine it is," she said. "It might get confusing if we were both Maddie," she added, wriggling her fingers as she presented her palm again. Madeleine put her hand into it hesitantly, still holding onto Gibbs' pants leg.

Maddie looked up at Gibbs.

"You have to make it quick," she advised him quietly. "Like ripping off a Band-Aid."

"She won't be too clingy when she gets used to being here," Gibbs said gruffly, crouching down to his daughter's level again. "Emmy, Daddy has to go to work now. Maddie is a trustworthy person, so you just stay close to her until you feel safe, okay?" Madeleine nodded slowly, and Gibbs placed a kiss on her forehead, smirking a little. "Maddie was friends with your sister, you remember I told you about Kelly?"

Madeleine nodded again, looking a bit more comfortable.

Gibbs straightened up and lifted Madeleine's hand off of his pants, handing her off quickly to Maddie Tyler. The blonde put her arm around Madeleine's shoulders and hugged her a little, showing her warmth and support, while Gibbs handed over the knapsack he'd been instructed to pack and bring.

He lowered his voice.

"My card is in the front pocket," he informed Maddie. "You call me if you feel like I need to come get her," he paused and glance at his daughter, looking back at Maddie intently for a quiet moment. "She speaks in Hebrew sometimes; just remind her to speak English. She's been uprooted from her home recently, so she's shy and skittish sometimes," he let Maddie in on a little of Madeleine's background. "She loves _The Velveteen Rabbit_," he nodded at the knapsack. "Her stuffed rabbit is in that bag."

Maddie smiled, and nodded earnestly.

"I'll keep an eye on her especially," she assured him. She bit her lip, and took a deep breath, shaking her head a little. "You know when I found out, I couldn't stop crying," she said softly. "I thought I'd never be happy again. Then I figured Kelly wouldn't like that. But I still think about her a lot," she admitted, pausing. "I wonder what she'd be like."

Gibbs put his hands in his pockets and smiled. He remained silent for a moment, looking at Maddie Tyler, all grown up, and thinking about what she'd said—and noticing, after a moment, that her talking about Kelly hadn't resulted in the usual debilitating stab of pain and sadness that mentions of his late daughter usually did; instead there was a different feeling. A little pain, but a little more nostalgia, and good memories.

He shrugged.

"Like you," eh said, meaning it as a compliment.

Maddie smiled, biting her lip gratefully. The blonde looked down at Madeleine and grinned, glancing back at Gibbs with a small, friendly smile.

"I'm glad you stopped crying, Mr. Jethro," she said sincerely, squeezing Madeleine's hand. She laughed. "You know Kelly always wanted a _brother_," she said, amused.

Gibbs snorted.

He looked at his daughter, admiring her mother's green eyes in her, and smiled, waving goodbye to her with a wiggle of the fingers, and then a salute.

"You can't always get what you want," he said wryly, and Maddie laughed, crouching down to Madeleine's level to wave and watch Gibbs walk away.

He made it easy on everyone and didn't look back, but he had a smile on his face as he pulled his keys out of his pocket and walked back to his car. Before he entered the garage, something intangible prompted him to look up at the blue summer sky, and he squinted in the sun and wondered for a brief, irrational second if Kelly was looking back, because he thought it might be fate that his and Jenny's Madeleine had ended up meeting her namesake—because just _maybe_, that was Kelly's seal of approval.

* * *

><p>"Hey," Gibbs said quietly, keeping his voice low.<p>

"Hey," Jenny answered. "You sound funny," she remarked.

"Emmy's asleep," Gibbs answered, glancing at the child in his rear view mirror. "I get her in a car for longer than ten minutes, Jen, and she's out like a light," he added, amused.

"That would have been good to know when she was a baby," Jenny answered. "Pretty early on a Friday for you," she mused.

He nodded, eyes on the road again.

"Yeah, I'm on my way to Stillwater."

"Huh?" she asked, confused. "Where?"

"Pennsylvania," he amended with a wince. He'd forgotten Jenny knew nothing about where he'd come from. "Takin' her to see my dad for the weekend."

"I'm sure Morrow's thrilled to give you more vacation time," she snorted.

"He knows it's the last he'll have to give unless there's an emergency," Gibbs said seriously. "Cell service is bad up in Stillwater. Figured I'd let you know I might be hard to reach, just in cast."

"Where on earth is cell service not available in the US?" Jenny scoffed. He could almost hear her narrow her eyes skeptically.

"Small towns," he answered gruffly.

"How small?"

"Everyone knows everyone's business small," Gibbs retorted. "Cornfields and oil rigs, like Smallville."

"Smallville?"

"Come on, Jen, Superman's hometown," Gibbs whined, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, I see," Jenny said, laughing in his ear. "You know, you reading too many comic books as a kid is probably what left you thinking you're invincible," she sniped at him mildly.

"I am invincible," Gibbs drawled.

She scoffed wryly.

"I know your kryptonite, Jethro," she said cryptically. It felt as if she were smirking softly in his ear. He glanced at their daughter in the rear view mirror again. "How is Madeleine settling in at day care?" Jenny asked.

"Good," Gibbs answered, able to give good news. "It was a rough first week, but she's more into the swing of things now. She likes it. Smarter then all the other punks," he added.

"Yes, Jethro, I'm sure the other parents think that of their _punks_," Jenny patronized with a snicker.

Gibbs grumbled to himself, glaring ahead as if he were glaring at her. Jenny was so _practical_ sometimes.

"I'm glad she's happy," Jenny murmured earnestly. "It's one less thing for me to worry about," she muttered.

"You okay, Jen?"

She sighed heavily. She didn't answer right away, and for a moment, he wasn't sure she was going to.

"I'm fine," she decided finally. "I have a lot on my plate. Stress, difficult decisions, the works," she hesitated. "I am being jerked around by Mossad, and something tells me it's because they've lost control of Haswari again."

Gibbs made a noise that clearly conveyed his lack of surprise and his extreme contempt. She just sighed again, and he envisioned her pursing her lips in frustration and rubbing her temples, probably thinking about a soothing bath or a warm cup of tea.

"They lose control of that bastard a lot," Gibbs growled.

"Watch your language."

"She's _asleep_, Jen."

Jenny grunted in irritation.

"They give him a long rope, Jethro," she said tensely. "He's very good."

"Yeah?" Gibbs asked sarcastically. "One day he'll hang himself."

"Let's hope not," Jenny answered grimly. "He'd take everyone in the vicinity to the gallows with him."

The ominous prediction hit Gibbs square in the gut, and he swallowed uncertainly.

"You talk to Ziva lately?" he asked.

"No," Jenny muttered unhappily. "Only her minions—Jethro, you're breaking up," she added, her voice sounding faraway.

"I warned you," he said, shrugging.

"Thank you," she said gratefully. "Have a good weekend. Tell Madeleine I love her," she ordered, and then hesitated. "Tell your father I say hello."

"It won't mean anything to him," Gibbs scoffed, rolling his eyes—Jackson had never even _heard_ of Jenny.

"Okay," Jenny said slowly, "Then tell him I'm quite sorry he has such an infuriating _ass_ for a son."

Gibbs grinned smugly.

"_That'll_ mean somethin'," he drawled. "Take care of yourself, Jen," he said—and hung up the phone, thus signaling the start of a quiet, unplugged homecoming weekend.

* * *

><p>For some inexplicable reason, it had occurred to Gibbs that it was necessary to introduce Madeleine to her grandfather but it had <em>not<em> occurred to him that this could be a potentially volatile situation.

He hadn't seen Jackson Gibbs since the funeral thirteen years ago. They hadn't spoken; they weren't even on Christmas card terms. His father was completely cut off from his life, and here he was about to walk in unannounced with a kid.

Gibbs killed the engine and looked around at Madeleine.

She looked back at him blithely, her eyes peeking over a picture book she'd been entertaining herself with.

"All done driving?" she asked cordially.

Gibbs nodded.

"You tired of being cramped in your booster?" he asked.

She nodded, reaching down to press the button that would unbuckle her. She wriggled a little, and then waited patiently for him to come and remove her from the seat. Gibbs steeled himself and got out of the car—and realized as he was turning to shut the driver's side door that he had made a mistake in sitting so long in the drive with the car running; when he up, he caught sight of Jackson standing at the bottom of the General Store steps.

They made eye contact, identical ice-blue eyes unreadable as they considered each other, and then the elder Gibbs came forward slowly, his hands clasped behind his back in his usual introspective manner.

Gibbs paused, his hand on his car door tightly, and waited until Jackson was right in front of him.

"Well, son," Jackson broke the silence in his kindly, gravelly voice. "It's been a while."

Gibbs tilted his head, squinting a little and then giving a ghost of a smile. He slammed his door shut.

"That's an understatement," he responded neutrally.

"What are you doing here, Leroy?" Jackson asked curiously.

Gibbs managed to look a bit sheepish. He took a few steps, opened Madeleine's car door, and reached in for her, pushing her door shut when he had her on his hip and then turning back to face the man who had always been his harshest critic. Immediately, he felt chastised and disobedient, like he'd just been caught sneaking that girl up to his room after prom.

"It's a long story," Gibbs deadpanned.

Jackson Gibbs took a breath and raised his eyebrows, blinking in calm, patient surprise. He looked at Madeleine for a moment, until she got nervous and hid her face in her father's neck, and then Jackson turned an unreadable look on Gibbs.

"It seems so," he muttered, narrowing his eyes a bit. Jackson lifted his hand and beckoned warmly, turning on his heel and gesturing with a thumb towards the General Store. "You better come inside."

Gibbs nodded, and decided it was best to unpack his and Madeleine's thinks later. He rubbed his jaw stiffly and, gritting his teeth in preparation, followed his estranged father into the store he'd grown up in.

* * *

><p>An hour and a half later, the two Gibbs sat at an old wooden table in the general store, stoically sipping coffee and watching Madeleine slowly and happily eat the sweets Jackson had pulled off a shelf especially for her. She'd never had fudge before, and she was fascinated with the stuff—though Gibbs was careful not to let her put too much in her mouth at once lest she choke.<p>

Madeleine popped another tiny square of peanut butter fudge into her mouth and hummed a little, murmuring to herself. The silence was evidently bothering her.

"How old is she?" Jackson asked finally.

The majority of time insofar had been spent letting Madeleine get comfortable and introducing her to Jackson. Gibbs had brought their things in, and briefly filled his dad in while the coffee brewed—but there were still many unanswered questions.

"Three," Gibbs answered gruffly. "She'll be four in August," he added, realizing with a start that August was a mere two months away.

Jackson took a drink of coffee and then tapped the table firmly with his index finger.

"You should have told me about her three years ago," he said sternly. It would be all he said on the matter before moving on; that was how Jackson usually worked, and it was an inherited trait. Gibbs nodded and took a slow sip of his own coffee.

"I see you didn't bring her mother with you," Jackson noted neutrally.

"She lives in Egypt," Gibbs answered just as neutrally. He paused for another sip of coffee and then set his mug down, holding his palm over the opening to catch the steam. "I got custody of Madeleine about a month ago. Her mother got a promotion, moved from Israel to Egypt," he explained gruffly. "We thought it best to raise her here."

Jackson nodded at the little girl.

"That's why she's speakin' that other language," he noted acutely.

Gibbs glanced at Madeleine and heard her singing that song in Hebrew she sang when she was left to entertain herself. He believed Tali had taught it to her. Gibbs nodded in answer, and Jackson made a noise under his breath.

"You're not married to this woman, then?" he asked, a bit disapprovingly.

"No," Gibbs answered bluntly, though with an air of warning. He smiled tightly. "Thought you might like to hear I didn't jump into another _crapshoot_ marriage," he quoted, remembering something he had once heard Jackson say to Diane.

Jackson pointed at his son narrowly.

"I'd like to hear that you did right by that woman, Leroy," he reprimanded firmly, his old-fashioned, small town values glaringly obvious with the statement. "She deserves a ring on her finger."

Gibbs cocked an eyebrow, remaining cool.

"She didn't want a ring on her finger, Dad," he said, though the word sounded odd on his lips; like sandpaper. He wasn't used to calling Jackson _Dad_. But it was helpful for Madeleine to associate him as family if Gibbs treated him as such.

"Did you _offer_?"

Gibbs held out his hands, making a face.

"Yeah, I _offered_," he scoffed. "She turned me down."

Jackson looked suspicious, but fell silent, sipping on his coffee again.

Madeleine picked up another piece of fudge and looked at Jackson brightly, her eyes wide.

"What I call you by?" she asked politely.

Jackson glanced at Gibbs briefly and then looked back at Madeleine. He smiled gently.

"Pops," he said, giving the name Kelly had called him when she was little, and had seen him often. Madeleine looked at her father for confirmation, and Gibbs nodded, indicating it was okay.

"Thank you," Madeleine said, falling silent again.

She kicked her feet contently and began humming, munching on another chunk of fudge.

Jackson smiled lightly, leaning back. He went back to his coffee.

"You're a little old for accidents, son," Jackson reminded Gibbs.

Gibbs rolled his eyes, glaring at the ceiling. He was just going to have to bear a few reprimands while Jackson processed the idea. All in all, the elder Gibbs was being incredibly level-headed and accepting of the whole surprise-granddaughter situation.

"How did you and her mother meet?" Jackson asked.

"Her name is Jenny," Gibbs informed Jackson courteously. He hesitated, hiding his answer in his coffee as he took a sip and muffled the words: "She was my partner."

"Ha!" Jackson let out a laugh, shaking his head, eyes on the ceiling in amusement. "Must've been a redhead?" he asked, with a knowing look.

"Not a bad personality, either," muttered Gibbs lightly, arching an eyebrow. Jackson nodded good-naturedly, tapping the table with his fingertips.

The old small town shopkeeper leaned forward, both elbows on the table as he rested his arms around his coffee mug. He looked intently at Gibbs, his eyes bright and searching. He nodded after a long silence, his features softening.

"That look's gone again," he said cryptically.

Gibbs' brow furrowed a little. He grunted.

"What _look_?" he asked gruffly.

"That _angry_ look," Jackson said simply. "The look you got after your mother died, the need for vengeance. The look that went away when you married Shannon, came back after she died. It's gone."

Gibbs squinted, keeping his muscles taut, his features schooled. He didn't know what _look_ Jackson was talking about, but then he didn't spend much time staring his reflection down.

"You know I adored that wife of yours," Jackson said heavily. "And I adored that child, too. It broke my heart when they died. You had to have someone to take it out on, and I get that. I just wish it hadn't been me for the past fifteen years."

Fifteen," Gibbs corrected automatically, mechanically. He looked away. He looked at Madeleine. "You don't understand what it was like," he said gruffly.

Madeleine looked at him for a moment, waiting to see if he was going to talk to her. When he didn't, she handed him a piece of fudge—and he took it, smiling at her to show he approved of her generosity and sharing. She smiled back; she smiled Jenny's smile.

Gibbs looked back at Jackson. He took a hearty sip of his coffee, burned his throat, and said:

"It wasn't your fault."

Jackson nodded firmly.

"I know that, son," he said quietly. "Wasn't yours, either," he added sincerely.

Gibbs looked at his father. He set his mug down coffee, and smirked slightly, displaying a little gratitude.

"Daddy, I wand to pick some berries, please," Madeleine piped up, finished with her fudge, and looking at him a little bored. She reminded him he'd told her about the blackberries in his old backyard that always bloomed in the summer with more blackberries than could be eaten.

Gibbs popped the fudge she'd given him into his mouth and nodded, leaning over to kiss her on the crown of her head.

"Wait until the sun goes down a little. It'll be cooler," he said, standing up.

He finished his coffee and tilted his head, watching Madeleine glare at him in annoyance at having her fun postponed.

Jackson laughed and pointed at her little face.

"Oh yeah, I recognize that one," he mused, winking at the little girl. She giggled bashfully and crinkled her nose, reaching up to hide her face from her grandfather. Gibbs watched the exchange with relief—almost with a weight lifted off his shoulders. He went to dispose of his mug.

Jackson whistled sharply, demanding his attention before he left. Gibbs turned with a raised brow, and Jackson gestured at Madeleine, his blue eyes curious.

"What made you decided to include me this time 'round?" he asked guardedly.

Gibbs tightened his mouth, looking at Madeleine for a moment. For a brief second, a memory flashed before his eyes—Kelly, sitting across from Jackson, perched on Shannon's lap with a cherry Popsicle when she was just Madeleine's age. Just as quickly, the memory was gone, and he was looking at Madeleine, drumming her hands on the table as she peered at Jackson curiously.

Gibbs swallowed hard and shrugged.

"You get another chance," he said hoarsely. "You see things differently."

* * *

><p><strong>End: Early June, 2004<strong>

_I borrowed a bit of dialogue from 'Heartland' (6x4). _

_*Alas, tonight is the finale of Season 9 of NCIS-as I'm sure you all know. Here's to hoping all goes well; that Jimmy and Breena get their something old, new, borrowed, and blue-as well as a happy ending-and let's keep our finger's crossed that the odds are always in our favorite team's favor. That being said, if this story is never updated again it's because the finale/cliffhanger ripped out my heart, shredded my soul, and ultimately killed me. Not to be dramatic. _

_-Alexandra _


	11. Ehad-esreh

_A/N: Well, here it {finally} is. I'll make no excuses. I abandoned this for a while to write something else, so perhaps that makes it a little excusable? A colossal thanks to those of you who remained interested and asked after it-it really helps me to keep going! _

_I've got a new Beta: JibbsGal1. Many many thanks to her! _

* * *

><p><em><strong> Eleven<strong>_

**August 2004**

Kate Todd dutifully opened the door of Gibbs' house. On the doorstep she found Tony, whose face split into a huge grin when he saw her.

"Hello, _Kate_," he greeted smugly, unable to contain his excitement over being invited to Gibbs' house on a Saturday for a non-work related event. "Aren't you a perky little hostess," he mocked, noting her lack of enthusiasm in seeing him.

Kate rolled her eyes. She did not step aside as Tony tried to get in.

"Wait."

"Aww, Kate, I was just joking around, come on!" Tony whined. "You can't un-invite me, anyway; you're not Gibbs _or_ Maddie," he added petulantly, giving her a stubborn look.

"Calm _down_ Tony, no one is _uninvited_," Kate said, rolling her eyes yet again. Tony glared at her; the eye-roll was Kate Todd's signature move, and he was beginning to get tired of her annoying overuse of it. "I have to tell you the rules before you come in."

Tony cocked his head in interest.

"Rules?" he asked, intrigued. He took on a sheepish look. "You know, uh, Kate, I stayed with Gibbs once before and I, ugh, think I learned what _not_ to do."

"Oh?" Kate asked curiously, momentarily distracted. "What's that?"

"Well, you see, Gibbs doesn't like it when you bring women home and pretend you're the one who built his boat…"

Kate stared at Tony in disbelief and just shook her head, unable to decide if she was amused or simply amazed that DiNozzo had made it out of that particular situation alive. She chose to go with amazement and moved on to the rules Gibbs had ordered her to impart to Tony.

She held up a finger.

"The basement is off-limits," she said.

"Is that just a rule specific to me?" DiNozzo demanded, narrowing his eyes.

"No, these are everyone's rules—well, except for the last one."

"What's the last one?"

"Patience, DiNozzo," Kate said. She stepped aside a little to let him in and held up another finger. "_Don't_ help Madeleine blow out her candles."

Tony put his hand over his heart.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he promised seriously.

Kate held up a third finger.

"You are not to throw any water balloons back at a child," she said. "Abby and McGee brought some over since it's so hot, and Gibbs doesn't want anyone beaning a four-year-old with one. Only the kids can throw them."

"He's probably instructed them all to chuck 'em at me," grumbled Tony. "Okay, fine, next rule," he said, tapping his foot impatiently in the doorway.

"You can't have a party hat unless Madeleine gives one to you," Kate said, and then she held up a fifth finger and wriggled it, a small smile appearing on her face. "Last but not least, and custom made for you," she drawled, letting him sweat for a minute. "You're not allowed to say a word about Gibbs' crown."

DiNozzo stared at Kate, speechless for a moment.

"What? His _what_?"

"His crown."

"His…crown," repeated DiNozzo in disbelief.

Kate nodded smugly.

"Madeleine is making him wear a sparkly purple crown as his party hat."

Tony looked like Christmas had come early.

"And I can't make one, tiny, snarky little comment? Just _one?"_

"No."

"Please, Kate, just let me make _one little joke_!"

"_No_, Tony!" Kate snapped insistently. "It's already a privilege that Gibbs is letting me open the door!"

"Where is he, anyway?" asked DiNozzo mischievously, following Kate into his boss' house.

"In the kitchen with Ducky. Mrs. Mallard made a gorgeous cake, but she spelled Madeleine's name wrong. So they're fixing it before Maddie sees it," Kate explained.

"So he's wearing a crown, _and_ he's doing kitchen-y, baking things," Tony hissed gleefully.

"Do you want to be banned from the birthday party?" Kate hissed back, elbowing him in the ribs.

Tony squawked in protest and shook his head furiously. There was no way in hell he was giving up the chance to be at Gibbs' house all day in celebration of Madeleine's fourth birthday. He had been promised a cookout and cake, and of course there was always that chance that the mystery of the missing mother might be unraveled.

Because it had been over two months, and they had no tiny inkling of who Madeleine's mother was or what had happened to her—even the little girl rarely mentioned her, and when she did, she seemed to catch herself and stop speaking.

Naturally, Tony was itching to know what the great secret was.

"Where's the birthday girl?" he asked loudly, following Kate into the living area with a bounce in his step.

Abby stepped in from the backyard, dressed in a gothic but somehow utterly festive sundress, and waved perkily.

"She's out here," Abby called, pigtails bouncing. "Come say hello!"

As much as DiNozzo was dying to see Gibbs icing a cake in a princess crown, he couldn't make an excuse not to wish Maddie a happy birthday right away—and if he was going to follow the precious rules Gibbs had laid forth, he had better remove himself from temptation. So, he followed Abby out into Gibbs' backyard—another place he was curious to explore—and parted with Kate as she hurried into the kitchen.

"How's it going?" she asked brightly.

Ducky smiled blithely; Gibbs swore under his breath.

"Come look at this," Gibbs ordered, snapping at Kate and pointing to the cake. She walked over and tilted her head, squinting a little at the fixed letters in Madeleine's name. She pursed her lips; it looked acceptable, but then again, it had been impossible to fix.

"How on earth did she misspell it so terribly?" Kate asked, exasperated.

"Because Maddie's mother put too many damned 'e's and 'i's in it," Gibbs growled.

Kate looked at him, surprised. She'd never heard Gibbs mention Madeleine's mother before, though the way his voice took on a sarcastic yet slightly indulgent tone confirmed that he was on at least decent speaking terms with Madeleine's mother.

Ducky chuckled.

"Well, Jethro, you couldn't expect her to spell it any other way than the French way," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Kate stood awkwardly a little behind the both of them; Ducky's comment indicated that he had known this woman Gibbs had previously had a relationship with. She _assumed_ that Gibbs was no longer involved with Madeleine's mother, else she couldn't see why the woman in question would be so utterly absent from the picture. She bit her lip, choosing not to draw attention to herself in the hope of hearing more. It was no use; Gibbs put aside the toothpick he'd been using to help fix the cake and turned to look at her, narrowing his eyes.

"Who was at the door?"

"DiNozzo."

"You tell him the rules?"

Kate nodded, making it a point not to look at Gibbs' princess crown. Gibbs nodded curtly and glanced over his shoulder towards the back window; he narrowed his eyes and looked at her again, pointing at the backyard.

"Kate, I'm putting you in charge of one of the kids," he said seriously.

She gave him a wary look. Madeleine had two friends from her day school over, as well the daughter of Agent Fornell—Emily—though none of them could quite figure out how Emily and Madeleine had come to know each other and apparently get along.

"Evelyn or Hannah?" Kate asked, hoping he was going to say Evelyn. She had noticed that Hannah was a bit of a wild child, and she'd much rather not be responsible for a kid who was inevitably going to injure herself or break something.

"The biggest one," Gibbs said vaguely.

"Emily?" Kate asked in surprise, her brows furrowed. Emily Fornell was seven; she didn't need constant supervision.

Gibbs smirked and shook his head, turning her and pointing out the window more definitively.

"DiNozzo."

* * *

><p>Tony DiNozzo was not feeling particularly like a <em>special<em> agent as he sat in a plastic lawn chair in the sun, soaking wet and unable to defend himself. He whined with anxiety as a child came running towards him and launched yet another water balloon at his chest, which of course, he had to stoically allow to hit him. He fixed a glare on Abby that resulted in only a giggle from the Goth; she was happily tying any balloons that were brought to her, with no care as to where they were ending up—and of course, neither Kate nor McGee would come to his rescue, as they were perfectly entertained by his plight.

"I'm _really_ not allowed to throw one back?" Tony demanded in an indignant squeak, glaring at Kate as she indulgently supervised the young four-year-olds while they scampered about in Gibbs' well-kept backyard.

"No."

"Just _one_?"

"DiNozzo, you'd really peg a water balloon at someone five times smaller than you?" Kate asked skeptically.

"Yes," he answered emphatically, trying to deter another water balloon with a terrifying glare.

Apparently he wasn't too scary, because he was hit in the knee with a balloon, and Madeleine's little friend, Evelyn, went cackling off to grab another weapon of mass drenching. DiNozzo whined again and gestured around.

"They aren't throwing the damn things at any of _you_!" he protested, only to find himself slapped in the back of the head rather irreverently.

He yelped and reached back to rub his neck, turning his head a little. Gibbs glared at him seriously and shook his head slightly.

"Language," he growled.

"Boss," whimpered Tony, "call them off."

"You better not be asking me to end my daughter's fun on her _birthday_, DiNozzo," Gibbs said coolly.

"They're just four-year-olds, Tony," McGee said smugly, safe and dry over by a picnic table with snacks on it.

Tony pointed accusingly at Gibbs.

"Obviously they have orders from Gunnery Sergeant _Dad_ over here," he raged.

"Have you tried asking them nicely to stop?" Abby piped up.

"I said cut it out!"

"Well, that's not asking nicely," Abby retorted, tying and handing over another water balloon to Madeleine. The birthday girl held it carefully and pranced towards Tony, starting to lift it over her head—he held up his hands in a desperate plea and slipped out of his chair, falling dramatically to his knees.

"Wait, stop!" he cried melodramatically. "Please don't hit me with another balloon," he said, folding his hands prayer-like and looking at Madeleine on her level. She stopped quizzically and lowered her hand, frozen a few feet in front of him. She tilted her head thoughtfully and then looked past Tony's shoulder at Gibbs.

Gibbs winked at her.

"Good soldiers show mercy, Emmy," he said cryptically.

Madeleine dropped the water balloon, and Tony shrieked and closed his eyes, under the impression it would be hitting him in the head. It busted at her feet and soaked the hem of her dress. Madeleine squealed, giggled, and then launched herself forward against Tony, hugging him tightly.

"Pony, you're a good sport!" she complimented, climbing up on him eagerly and nearly knocking him over. She kept laughing, and to Tony's consternation, was joined mere moments later by the other two—and the three of them succeeded in knocking him flat on his back on the grass. Thus he ended up not only soaking wet from an unprovoked barrage of water balloons but covered in grass and pollen after being forcibly hugged into submission by three four-year-olds and Fornell's seven-year-old.

Fornell was here and DiNozzo's entire damn team was here and he was _never_ going to live this moment down.

He heard the furious clicking of Abby's camera, and Kate's hysterical laugher, and sighed dramatically. When he was finally allowed to sit up, he ruffled Madeleine's hair affectionately and grinned, resigned. He blew grass out of his face and ran his hands roughly through his hair, tousling it.

"You've got good aim, Mini Gibbs," he said, giving her a playful, light punch in the shoulder.

Madeleine giggled, and her eyes sparkled.

She sprang away from him and grabbed Emily Fornell by her hand, yanking the blonde girl forward and pushing her into Tony's lap.

"Pony, Em-lee _looooooves_ you," she trilled wickedly.

Emily Fornell grinned and grabbed Tony's hand; Tony paled instantly, his eyes darting around for Fornell—what was this, a sting? A set-up? Fornell was over with Ducky and Gibbs at the grill; he hadn't noticed anything untoward. Abby was approaching with her camera.

"You get yourself a new girlfriend, Tony?" she asked slyly.

Emily Fornell fluttered her second-grade eyelashes at him.

"You're dreamy, Agent DiNozzo," she cooed at him, pronouncing his name the Italian way—just like her father did but without the annoyed inflection.

Tony squeaked in terror.

"I'm a little old for you, Emily," he said, attempting to stay calm.

"Aww, let her have fun, Tony. It's just a schoolgirl crush," Abby teased, raising her camera again.

Emily stood up and darted around Tony, hugging him around his shoulders and smiling for the camera. Madeleine clapped her hands and screamed happily for Gibbs' attention; he looked over with mild interest, just to ensure himself the scream wasn't one that meant she needed help.

Unfortunately, the scream garnered Fornell's attention, too.

"DINOZZO!" the FBI agent bellowed. "What is Emily doing hanging around your neck?"

And before Tony could defend himself, impish little Emily lifted her blonde head and shouted back to her father:

"Daddy, I'm going to marry Mr. DiNozzo!"

Tony gulped; faced with being the object of a crush that would make him the son-in-law of Gibbs' ex-wife, he helplessly decided he should have just let them chuck water balloons at him all day.

* * *

><p>It seemed Madeleine had gotten her birthday confused with 'Harass-Very-Special-Agent-DiNozzo-Day,' as the minor attacks on Tony's person, psyche, and pride continued all afternoon and well into the humid August evening. He had almost given up hope of ever being looked upon with favor from the little deviant princess when she suddenly demanded he be the one to light her cake on fire.<p>

Which was apparently her way of asking him to ignite her candles.

Eagerly—with enough excitement to earn a warning glare from Gibbs—DiNozzo complied, carefully coaxing flames from four simple white candles, glowing in an admirable little cluster near a few butterflies made of purple buttercream icing.

"Daddy," Madeleine said matter-of-factly, before anyone started singing to her. "What if I don't make them all go out?" she asked seriously. Her brows furrowed in genuine concern.

"Bet you will," he answered, just as seriously.

"If I do not, then there's no wish come true," she said, puckering her lip out sadly.

"Hey, sugar, don't worry too much," Abby piped up brightly. "You'll blow those candles out like it's nothin'."

"Maddie, we can make your wish come true," Kate said, smiling gently.

Gibbs tried to give her a look to stop her making promises, but Madeleine was too sharp to buy it—and Kate didn't even know what she was getting herself into. Madeleine snapped her eyes onto Kate's and lifted her chin primly, shaking her head.

"No, _you_ can't. Kate, you don't even _know_ my mama," she informed the brunette seriously. She climbed onto Gibbs' lap and sat on her knees, leaning forward, her eyes on the flickering flames thoughtfully. Ducky caught Gibbs' eye over the child's head and smiled in some sad sympathy. Gibbs just gruffly pressed his lips comfortingly to the back of Madeleine's head.

She didn't understand why Jenny wasn't here. There had been tears about it at random intervals all week leading up to this little cookout party. He hadn't been able to get it through Madeleine's head that Jenny was not going to be around on her birthday—Madeleine knew that Gibbs had always been to visit on her birthday, therefore she assumed her mother would reciprocate now that Madeleine lived with Gibbs. The little girl simply did not accept that she would spend her birthday with only her father.

"Emmy," Gibbs said gently, lowering his voice. "Do not be disrespectful to Kate," he warned mildly. She nodded, looking at her cake again. She turned her head and looked at DiNozzo, and then McGee, and then finally at Gibbs again.

"Tali sings the song in Hebrew," she said uncertainly.

He smiled, nodded, and rubbed her back, squeezing her shoulder.

"We'll sing in English this year, M," he said firmly.

"Uh," Tony raised his hand somewhat oddly, as if he were in a classroom in grade school. Startled by his own action, he then yanked his hand down and looked sheepishly at Gibbs. Gibbs glared at him, and DiNozzo swallowed hard, wincing. "Uh, I can sing it in Italian, Boss," he volunteered.

Before Gibbs could consider head-slapping him for the suggestion, Madeleine perked up.

"Like spaghetti?" she asked brightly. "Italian?" she repeated.

Tony nodded smugly.

"You bet, missy," he said, nudging McGee with his elbow to make him scoot over on the picnic table bench. He crammed himself in and leaned forward, raising his eyebrows, asking silently if Madeleine wanted him to continue. She looked at him very _very_ intently, as if making an important decision.

"It can be new tradition," she decided, leaning back against Gibbs. She adjusted her tiara on her head and pointed at Tony dramatically. "Sing words, Pony, _now_."

"Madeleine," Gibbs said sternly.

"Please, Pony," the little girl corrected herself immediately, needing only the slight growl of warning from her father to use her manners.

So Tony, looking a little bit sheepish still, sang—and rather dramatically, at that—_Happy Birthday _to Madeleine in Italian. His efforts earned him some humoring applause from his coworkers, and she smiled at him bashfully and then leaned forward and confidently blew out all four of her candles, her eyes lighting up with glee when she realized she'd accomplished the feat.

Gibbs bestowed upon her a proud hug and a peck on the cheek, but there was some reserve in his affections; he was afraid Madeleine had naively wished to see Jenny, and having to deal with the fallout of an un-granted wish was not something he looked forward to. He patted Madeleine's back gently and lifted her off his lap, getting up to cut the cake.

"Hmm, what piece do you want, Madeleine?" Abby asked, her eyes sparkling as she swept the candles off the cake and handed them to the pre-schooler so she could lick the icing off the bottom of them.

Madeleine shrugged, suddenly a little shy by the swarm of attention, and Abby giggled, leaning across the table and strongly lifting her over it and into her arms. She held Madeleine on her hip, even though Madeleine was getting too big to be held so much, and pointed at the lovely cake Mrs. Mallard had made.

"You get to pick any piece you want," Abby said, "and you get the very first piece!"

"I would like my name, please," Madeleine informed Abby, and then looked demandingly at her father.

Gibbs looked at the cake in dismay; of course, she'd pick the part that was smack in the middle. He looked up and glared weakly, arching an eyebrow.

"I have to cut the edges off first," he warned her.

"No," she said seriously. "Cut out my name first, then edges," she ordered.

Gibbs looked at her balefully for a moment and then stabbed the knife into the middle of the cake wordlessly, concentrating on getting her piece out without totally desecrating the rest of the nicely decorated dessert.

DiNozzo looked on in amazement.

"It's uncanny how she can just order him to do things so effortlessly," Tony hissed to McGee, careful to keep his voice low.

"You probably could, too, if you looked like a sick puppy when you were sad," Tim retorted smugly.

"I am _very_ adorable when I'm sad, McSassy," retorted Tony.

McGee just scoffed.

"Nah, you look like a drunken baboon when you try to do puppy eyes," the Probie informed him.

Tony's high-pitched noise of outrage was smothered by Madeleine's sudden, very serious pronouncement of:

"Daddy, your crown is falling off."

Kate immediately glared daggers at Tony, warning him not to say a damn word—it was one of the rules, after all—and DiNozzo was obviously barely able to contain a whole slew of mocking comments. Ever helpful and ever whimsical, Abby leaned forward to flick Gibbs' sparkly purple crown back into place on his head. He grunted an insincere thanks, busy maneuvering his daughter's chosen piece of cake onto a plate.

Triumphant at last, he smirked and handed over the paper dessert plate gallantly. Madeleine beamed and smiled happily at him; Abby sat down with her and supervised her eating. Gibbs passed off the knife to Ducky and took a break, wandering around to stand by Madeleine while she alternately chatted with Abby and devoured her birthday cake.

It was just the team left now; Fornell had taken Emily back to Diane, and both Evelyn and Hannah's parents had picked them up before the sun started to set. Gibbs hadn't wanted Madeleine's friends to get her gifts, as it would just be their parents buying presents for his kid, and he didn't feel comfortable with that. Thus, they'd gone home before cake and gifts were to occur.

Gibbs had told his team not to bring presents, either—he was plenty capable of providing birthday gifts for his daughter—but they had all showed up with something regardless.

Gibbs put his hands in his pockets and stood behind Madeleine, looking down at her four-year-old head with a guarded look on his face. In a very odd, surreal moment, he felt like he was looking at Kelly—not because he wanted Madeleine to be Kelly, but because he couldn't believe Madeleine was _four_; it seemed like yesterday he was babysitting an infant in Israel while Jenny went off on some botched Mossad mission.

"My cake is scrumptious," Madeleine announced primly, oblivious to the looks she received upon using the impressive vocabulary word. Gibbs grinned smugly. His kid was smart; growing up nearly fluent in two languages and attending excellent day care centers only enhanced that.

"_You're_ scrumptious," Abby retorted, pretending to gobble Madeleine up, and drawing shrieks of laughter from the little girl.

DiNozzo sat down across from Abby and Madeleine with a giant piece of cake, already halfway through with it by the time he decided to open his mouth and start talking through his food. He pointed his fork at a few neatly wrapped gifts.

"Don't ya want to see what you got?" he asked Madeleine.

"Tony!" hissed Kate, glaring at him from Madeleine's side.

"What?" he asked, shrugging, unconcerned. "C'mon, Kate, you know she's dying to open them."

"Her _father_ said she has to wait," Kate retorted, looking at Gibbs for support.

Gibbs glanced down at Madeleine, gauging how calm she was and how much of her cake she'd eaten. He shrugged and slowly nodded at her, smiling a little.

"She can open 'em," he said, granting coveted permission.

Madeleine stood immediately on Abby's lap and reached out; Gibbs bent forward and caught her hand. He kissed her fingers and raised an eyebrow at her.

"Let someone hand you a gift," he instructed. "You'll spill everything on this table."

She nodded and sat back in Abby's lap politely.

"May I have a present?" she asked sweetly.

Abby bounced a little in her seat, nodding happily at McGee. Tim picked up a small box and handed it to the Goth; she placed it in Madeleine's hands and tapped the gently-tied bow excitedly, giving her leave to open it.

Madeleine untied the ribbon, got the paper off with a bit of struggle, and took the top off the box.

She looked bemused and interested as she pulled a brand new white computer mouse out and held it up.

"Mouse," she announced matter-of-factly. She twisted and showed it to Gibbs. "Daddy, it's a mouse-y," she giggled. She threw her head back and looked at Abby curiously. "Why?"

"Well, there's a laptop, too," Abby said carefully, shifting to look at Gibbs. She winced good-naturedly when she saw the look on his face. "Let me explain," she added quickly. "Don't get mad."

"Abby," he said coolly, careful not to let Madeleine know he was angry.

She bit her lip.

Gibbs jerked his head to the side, and Abby handed Madeleine off to Kate, scurrying off to consult with Gibbs.

"I tell you four _not_ to spoil her," he growled, "and you buy her a damn _computer_?"

Abby held up her hands pleadingly. She smiled, placating him.

"Gibbs, before you jump down my throat about spoiling her or the expense, know that we all chipped in for this—and Ducky has a lot of money, and so do I, and we have _no one_ to spend it on," she said, all of it coming out in a rush. "This is something you _need_."

Gibbs scoffed at her.

"She's _four_ years old. I am _not_ allowing her a laptop in her room," he said moodily.

"Of course not," Abby agreed. "That would be nonsense. McGee's going to equip your house with wireless Internet," she explained, her eyes twinkling. Gibbs still glared at her a little icily; she stamped her foot, impatient that he wasn't quite getting it. "Gibbs," she said intensely, "the computer has a built in _webcam_," she said pointedly.

He still glared at her, narrowing his eyes, thinking on it. Then something in his face flickered, and he squinted at her seriously.

"Webcam," he repeated gruffly. "Like your computer in the lab?" he asked, remembering Christmas—

Abby nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes!" she said. "I told you video calling would be a household commodity within a few years," she reminded him brightly. "When McGee's done, Madeleine will be able to talk to her mom face-to-face whenever she wants to."

The ice in Gibbs' eyes melted on cue. He looked at Abby as if she'd just—as if she'd just handed him the moon on a string or something ridiculous like that. She was surprised when he gave her a rare, genuine crooked grin and lifted an eyebrow. He pointed over her shoulder at the table.

"She can see Jen on her birthday?" he asked, almost holding his breath.

Abby laughed and nodded, pigtails swinging.

"That's why Kate knew we could grant her wish," she informed him earnestly. "I told her that the computer was for talking to Maddie's mom. Ducky and I already made sure her mom's available later."

Gibbs still grinned at her.

"Abs," he began.

She just put her finger to his lips and then presented her cheek to him for a kiss. He complied, squeezing her shoulder gently in thanks, and brushing past her. He crouched down by Madeleine's side, giving a curt nod of thanks to McGee, Kate, and DiNozzo as he caught each of their eyes, and he said nothing to his daughter—intent on keeping the surprise a surprise.

"Oh, oh!" Madeleine exclaimed suddenly. She swung off the bench and ran to a box in the corner, holding something behind her back and running forward. There was a brand new copy of the latest kids' cartoon laying where she'd been sitting, which Gibbs assumed was from Tony.

Madeleine pranced up to DiNozzo demurely and lavishly held a party hat out to him—he was the very last of the guests to receive his party hat. DiNozzo made a show of being honored. He proudly took the hat from Madeleine and placed it on his head. It was a multi-colored, plastic joker's cap, and Kate laughed when she saw it.

Gibbs smirked, shooting a smug look at his senior agent.

"If the hat fits, DiNozzo," he drawled, poking fun at Tony.

And poor Tony, who had been so _good_ about holding it in, looked directly at Gibbs' sparkly, plastic, purple crown, glared wickedly at his boss, and promptly broke the rules.

"Guess that makes you a pretty butch princess, _your_ _Majesty_."

* * *

><p>Gibbs stared at the little rectangle in the middle of the shiny new computer screen as the icon of a green telephone wriggled around, mimicking a cartoonish ringing movement. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously when the noise stopped, and McGee nodded, stepping away from his shoulder. The twitchy probationary agent cleared his throat, and Gibbs turned and glared at him. McGee scuttled away towards the stairs.<p>

"Boss?" he asked hesitantly, as he was taking a few steps up.

Gibbs grunted in response, tilting his head in poorly concealed amazement as Jenny's face came into focus, fuzzy, and then painfully sharp.

"Are you connected?" McGee asked.

Gibbs nodded and managed to hide his smirk until McGee had disappeared upstairs. He heard the younger man telling Abby that all systems were go and knew he only had a precious minute before they sprung the surprise on Madeleine and he and Jenny had no virtual alone time.

"Jethro," Jenny spoke up, laughter infusing her voice, "you look like you've just witnessed magic."

He was taken aback that her voice sounded so close and so clear; he had expected it to be static-y or muffled. This _Skype_ thing was all Abby had talked it up to be—he could see her so well he thought he might touch her skin if he put his palm to the screen; he could hear her as if she were talking in his ear. For a moment, he enjoyed that sensation.

It had been a couple of weeks since he'd spoken to her, and he hadn't laid eyes on her since he'd left her in the Tel Aviv airport.

She bit her lip and lifted her eyebrow.

"You might take this opportunity to communicate with me," she coaxed wryly.

He cleared his throat, cocking his own eyebrow.

"Why didn't I think of this?" he asked indignantly, gesturing at the computer. He narrowed his eyes again as he caught sight of his own hand flashing in front of a tiny picture that reflected his face.

"You're an old-fashioned guy, Jethro," she said, as he leaned forward to investigate the tiny screen showing his reflection. Jenny snorted. "You're too close to the camera," she informed him. "I can only see your receding hairline."

"My hairline isn't receding," Gibbs growled, his hand darting up to his head.

She laughed again.

"Teasing," she said coolly, as he leaned back and gave her a patented glare. She leaned forward, her elbow on the desk in front of her, and lifted her brows eagerly. "Where's Madeleine?" she asked tensely, her eyes practically straining with the effort it took to appear calm and collected.

"Abby is getting her ready for bed," Gibbs answered gruffly. He glanced over his shoulder and then leaned back, folding is arms across his chest. He gave her a suggestive look and arched an eyebrow. "You see me pretty clearly?" he asked.

She nodded, pursing her lips. She pushed her hair back, and it fell down her shoulders in a tantalizing cascade. He _missed_ her.

"You see me?" she asked.

He met her eyes, deadpan.

"Dunno, let's test it," he said seriously. "Flash me."

Her lips fell open in startled shock, though amusement quickly flickered through her emerald eyes.

"Jethro!" she hissed demurely, fluttering her lashes.

"I'm serious, Jen," he carried on. "Lift up your shirt."

"No."

He glared at her sternly.

"You can obviously see me perfectly _fine_, or you wouldn't be asking me to _flash_ you," she said snippily, arching her eyebrow.

"Jen," he whined.

"Let me see my child _right now_."

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he bribed suggestively, ignoring her plea for Madeleine.

She gave him a lofty look.

"I don't _want_ to see yours," she said derisively, the ghost of a smirk playing on her lips.

"Gibbs?" Abby called cautiously down the stairs. "Maddie is all snuggly clean and her teeth are brushed."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes with warning and pointed at Jenny.

"Saved by the kid," he said, his eyes on hers. "You haven't heard the end of this."

Jenny rolled her eyes, and Gibbs called up the stairs for Abby to bring Madeleine on down to him. He listened to Abby's footsteps and watched Jenny silently. She bit her lip and lifted her brows anxiously, unsure what to anticipate. She knew it was preposterous for her to think Madeleine wouldn't recognize her or remember her; she was far past the age where her memory was unreliable, but still—Jenny was on edge.

"Daddy," Madeleine announced, peering at him from Abby's hip as the Goth stepped off the landing. "Abby made me hold my toothbrush," she informed Gibbs a little petulantly.

"So?" Gibbs asked gently. "You're big enough to do it yourself," he told her, holding out his hands. Madeleine glared at him and locked her arms around Abby's neck.

"No thanks," she said snootily. "I shall stay here."

"Maddie," Gibbs said patiently, "I promise you want to come sit with me," he coaxed.

Abby nodded, wrinkling her nose at the little girl.

"I have to go home, precious," she said apologetically. "You have to tell me and Timmy if you liked the present," the lab tech said, pointing happily at the laptop that was now set up in Gibbs' basement.

"Daddy is playing games?" Madeleine asked, allowing Abby to put her on the floor. She ran over to Gibbs' knee and turned her little face up to the screen, rising up on tiptoes and squinting her eyes. Gibbs rested his hand on her head and waved silently to Abby. Abby waved back, turning on her heel gracefully and retreating back up the stairs.

Gibbs looked down at Madeleine as she stared at the screen. He grinned and lowered his head, lifting an eyebrow.

"Can you see, honey?" he asked.

Madeleine pointed, using her other hand to deftly scramble up on Gibbs' knee.

"I see," Madeleine answered uncertainly. She peered closer. "I see!" she shrieked. She swiveled around and looked at Gibbs earnestly. "Aba, look!" she screeched at him, turning back around ecstatically and pointing again, the pad of her index finger mashing against the screen. "MAMA!"

Jenny covered her mouth with her hand. The dimples in her cheeks told Gibbs she was grinning from ear-to-ear, but she was also obviously trying to hold back tears. After a moment, she lowered her hand and waved weakly at Madeleine, her nose crinkling in pleasure.

"Mama," Madeleine said again—warmly, and much more calmly. She flattened her palm messily against the screen. "Mama, I want touch your face," she whined, rubbing the screen some.

Jenny swallowed and placed her hand up near Madeleine's; the four-year-old broke off in an airy string of Hebrew, laughter puncturing each foreign word. Gibbs smiled and kissed the back of his daughter's head gently, content to let her babble along in comfortable Hebrew for the moment. After a few months here with only English surrounding her, he was impressed she still spoke the Jewish language so well.

"Madeleine," Jenny said, raising her voice over the child's chatter. "Madeleine, Madeleine, ahuva, speak English!" she ordered mildly. "Daddy can't understand you."

"Mama," Madeleine switched smoothly, tilting her head, her lips pouting unhappily. "You are crying!" Slightly distressed, she turned her head to Gibbs and glared at him impatiently. "Make her stop," she demanded.

Gibbs laughed good-naturedly and lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

"I can't help you there."

"I'm fine, Madeleine," Jenny said, waving her hand airily. "I'm just so happy to see you, baby! Your hair is getting so long; doesn't Daddy take you to get it trimmed? Surely he can't brush it and make it all pretty for you," Jenny winked at him playfully, and Madeleine gasped, grabbing onto her longer hair with her lips puckered.

"No, no, no hair cut, Ima!" she cried insistently. "Abby taught Daddy the braids," she informed Jenny primly. "He brushes it, too, no tangles, no hurts!" she informed her mother, shaking out her locks to show Jenny that there were, indeed, no tangles. Madeleine beamed, and Jenny nodded approvingly.

"Well, it's very pretty," she complimented. "I like your pretty dress, too. Did Daddy buy you that for your birthday?"

Madeleine sat back and spread the little outfit over her knees, kicking her feet excitedly. She giggled.

"No-mee give it to me," she said, correcting Jenny's assumption. "She made it like magic!"

"Noemi made it for her," Gibbs clarified, resting his chin on Madeleine's shoulder. He lifted is eyebrow at Madeleine. "And you said thank you a hundred times, didn't you?" he asked.

She held up her fingers and squinted at them as if counting.

She nodded vigorously.

"Lots and lots of _todas_," she said earnestly. "No-mee spoils me," Madeleine told Jenny seriously. "Ima, is Tee there?" she asked suddenly, cocking her head to the side. "I would like talk to Tee."

"Tali?" Jenny asked, confused, without thinking about it. The moment she said it, she realized Madeleine was talking about Ziva—that she was calling Ziva by the old baby-ish nickname she'd use to call her when she couldn't say her 'Z's.

Madeleine blinked and looked at Jenny solemnly.

"Ima," she said softly. "Tali never got better from the fire," she said, as if breaking some very serious news to her mother.

"I know," Jenny said quietly. "You meant Ziva, didn't you?" Jenny shook her head. "Ziva still lives in Israel, Madeleine," she explained. "Cairo is in Egypt. It's kind of close to Israel."

"Do you talk to Tee?" Madeleine asked.

Jenny shook her head.

"No, not in a long time," she answered, apologetic.

"Oh," Madeleine said. She leaned forward and put her elbow on the counter, cupping her cheek in her palm and looking at Jenny for a moment. She crinkled her nose, and Jenny smiled at her, mimicking her stance through the computer screen.

"How was your birthday?" Jenny asked, brightening, changing the subject.

Madeleine held up her free hand.

"I turned four," she said seriously. "I blew out all four candles." She perked up, grinning from ear-to-ear and leaning closer. She pursed her lips and bounced excitedly on Gibbs' lap. "I WISHED TO SEE YOU!" she shouted ecstatically, obviously just realizing the myth of blowing out all of your candles to secure the granting of a wish was true.

Jenny laughed to see her so excited and laughed at the annoyed look on Gibbs' face as he tried to prevent her from destroying the joints in his knees with her excitement.

"I wanted to see you, too," Jenny said sincerely. "I sent you a birthday package, but it might not arrive for a few days," she told Madeleine. The little girl clapped her hands. She beamed at Jenny, content, and while she was silent, Jenny looked up at Gibbs.

"Everything's okay?" she asked mildly, her eyes meeting his earnestly. She bit the inside of her cheek and her brows twitched a little in concern and the need for reassurance. Was she still feeling guilty over this decision to send Madeleine away? Gibbs shot her a sympathetic look; he smiled and nodded, placing his palm lightly on the crown of Madeleine's head.

"We're good, Jen," he said firmly. He peered at Madeleine and grinned. "We're not scared of Daddy's work anymore, we sleep all by ourselves," he said. He ruffled her hair. "She's a tough little princess," he said gruffly.

Madeleine giggled.

"Daddy's work people are _silly_," she said. "Pony, he makes silly faces and Timmy plays games and Kate yells. Kate says," Madeleine screwed up her face in mock anger and pointed her finger, wiggling it in annoyance. "Kate says _stop_ play and act like adults because Maddie is more mature!" Madeleine snickered and nodded her head, smiling at Jenny primly. "Ima, Daddy's work people call him _Gibbs_."

"They do?"

"Yes. He says I am not to call him that," Madeleine added, frowning.

"That's because he's not your boss, he's your dad," Jenny explained.

"He's not boss of me?" Madeleine asked, perking up.

"Um," Jenny said, wincing.

"Thanks for that one, Jen," Gibbs groused, glaring at her.

She smiled apologetically, biting her lower lip.

Leaning forward, she pushed her hair away from her face.

"I have lots of time, Madeleine," she said softly. "I made sure I had all the time in the whole world to talk on your birthday," she explained. "You must have so much more to tell me," Jenny glanced at Gibbs. "I'm sure Daddy won't mind if you stay up past bedtime," she said wryly.

Madeleine looked at him, holding her breath, for permission.

"You can stay up," he allowed, giving her a kiss on the forehead. She leaned back against him thrilled, and opened her mouth, her high, songbird-like voice filling the basement again, a happy mix of Hebrew and English.

Gibbs just watched Jenny while Madeleine chattered away. He drummed his fingers lightly on his daughter's knee and spoke when he was required to, but other than that, he just sat there and enjoyed the technological advancements that made this possible.

* * *

><p>About a month into her fourth year of life, Gibbs was faced with the unfortunate discovery that Madeleine seemed to have discovered the power of tempter tantrums in getting what she wanted from a tired, already sort-of-softie father. She was about two years late on the uptake when it came to screaming and kicking the floor—she'd always been very demure and quiet in Jenny's care; her situation at Mossad and around Jenny's people had necessitated it. Around Gibbs' people, however, she was indulged and encouraged to embrace life and the safety that the land of the free brought.<p>

And that meant coming home from pre-school and demanding that she have her ears pierced, all because some _other_ little girl had a shiny new pair of gold earrings in _her_ four-year-old ears.

The honeymoon, so to speak, was over.

Madeleine was on the floor in the living room crying crocodile tears and yelling in an impressive, angry mix of Hebrew and English.

Gibbs was in the kitchen cooking dinner, steadily ignoring her.

"Madeleine," he called calmly. "Do you want carrots or peas tonight?"

"EARS!" she screamed at him.

"Carrots sound good to me, too," he agreed blandly.

"_OZNAYIM_!" she screeched, switching to Hebrew.

Gibbs grabbed some baby carrots out of the refrigerator and got ready to cook them, shaking his head. He winced in annoyance, using all of the self-control the Marines had instilled in him to keep up his façade of nonchalance.

"DADDY," shouted Madeleine, kicking something weakly. "I WANT PRETTY EARS!" she demanded.

"You have pretty ears," he responded seriously. "You're hurting mine," he muttered to himself, turning to the microwave and checking on the small bowl of mac 'n' cheese he had cooking. He decided it needed a little more warmth and a little more cheese and set the timer again, rubbing his temples as he turned his attention back to the carrots.

"MAMA WOULD LET ME," Madeleine burst out, suddenly charging into the kitchen and putting her hands on her hips. In a rare turn of petulance, she glared at him fiercely and screwed up her face. "I want MAMA! _MAMA_ HAS PRETTY EARS!" she informed him in that same hiccup-y, shriek-y, fake-sobbing tone.

Except Madeleine was wrong; Gibbs had discussed it with Jenny already and Jenny's answer to 'can-I-pierce-our-four-year-old's-ears' had been a resounding, adamant _no_. Preschoolers changed their minds like wildfire, Jenny asserted (and Gibbs agreed) and if Madeleine wanted pierced ears, she could wait until she was old enough to be solely responsible for their care.

This nightmarish tantrum was the result of Gibbs informing Madeleine what the ultimate parental decision had been; she had asked for pierced ears a week ago, and he'd patiently told her he'd see what her mother thought. _Evidently_ his daughter thought he was lying to her about what Jenny's answer was.

"Madeleine, Mom says we're going to wait until you're older," he said again. He turned and smiled at her tiredly. "It'll be something to look forward to," he coaxed.

"NO!" growled the insolent child. "Now. NOW ABA."

"Madeleine," he said a little more sharply. "Wash up for dinner," he ordered. "You're behaving very badly."

"No."

He turned and looked at her, and raised his eyebrow. It was clearly a look of warning. He raised his finger and pointed towards the hall.

"Hands. Wash. _Now_," he commanded.

"NO!" she screamed, drawing it out, stomping her foot, and planting her feet, glaring at him as if she were the bravest little thing in the world.

Fed up, he tossed the wooden spoon he had on the counter and whirled to face her, towering over her, his patience gone, authority practically whipping off his skin.

"Madeleine Jane Gibbs," he barked. "Do not _ever_ tell me 'no,'" he ordered severely. "Go wash your hands for dinner this instant!"

She looked shocked; her tears stopped immediately. Well, that is, her faux-sobbing stopped, and her dry eyes suddenly welled with real, frightened, chastised tears. She sniffled, quieting, and ran meekly down the hall towards the bathroom—and he hated to watch her run off upset and scared by him. It sent a wave of guilt over him that he remembered from the days of disciplining Kelly, but he had to stick with it.

She couldn't grow up thinking it was okay to be screaming 'no' at her parents.

* * *

><p>His guilt was assuaged when bedtime came around, and he remembered how short was the grudge-holding span of a child. He was sitting on the couch at the coffee table reviewing some case files when she abandoned her colouring book at his feet and crawled into his lap, dropping her head heavily on his shoulder.<p>

"I would like to sleep now," she said, yawning.

He smiled and put his hand on her back, ruffling her hair gently and leaning back. He glanced down at her and kissed her forehead. Nodding, he braced his shoulders and stood up, holding her easily on his hip. She snuggled up to him and closed her eyes—no doubt worn out by her ferocious tantrum of only two hours ago.

Gibbs strolled into the bathroom and turned the sink on, setting her on her little stool and handing her a toothpaste ready toothbrush. She obediently took it and stood mechanically brushing her teeth, with him occasionally aiding her in getting all the hard-to-reach spots. The bedtime routine was uneventful and easy, and he was glad of that. Madeleine had never really been bad about going to sleep when it was time for her to do so.

Once her teeth were brushed, he pulled her onto his lap for her customary bedtime story, holding in his hands one of her newer books. She sighed, content, and clasped her hands, waiting for him to begin.

"Daddy," Madeleine interrupted halfway through the story.

"Yeah?"

"I love you even if you yelled," she informed him seriously.

He laughed, his brows going up.

"Good," he said, kissing the crown of her head. He ruffled her hair, and continued with the story, feeling a little less guilty about the Great Temper Tantrum Incident of the evening.

* * *

><p>After much pleading, pouting, and outright arguing, Abby and Kate had managed to steal Madeleine away from Gibbs and take her out to lunch in an effort to cheer her up. Gibbs thought she seemed abnormally pissed off about the whole pierced ears thing—he thought she should have totally forgotten the issue by now, but she hadn't.<p>

"Why did he make such a big deal of us taking her?" Kate asked, watching Abby animatedly help Madeleine read over the menu.

"He says she's too young to be in a restaurant," Abby answered, rolling her eyes. "Get this, Kate, he said kids didn't belong in restaurants until they could _read the menus themselves_."

Kate shrugged.

"That's how my parents felt," she said mildly.

"Well, Gibbs needs to wake up and smell the roses of raising a child in the twenty-first century," Abby said matter-of-factly.

Kate laughed good-naturedly.

"And what do you know about raising a child, Abby?"

"I know I wanted to spoil this precious little angel with lunch!" Abby retorted, kissing Madeleine affectionately on the head. Madeleine grinned wickedly and plopped the menu down on the table, nodding her head emphatically as she tapped on it.

"I would like ice cream," she said seriously.

Abby pretended to look sad.

"That's not on the menu we read, Maddie!" she said forlornly. "You told me you wanted the big kid menu," she reminded the child.

"I do," Madeleine said, frowning. "So, Abby, big kids eat ice cream."

"Not for lunch in the middle of a Monday, they don't," Kate said gently. She leaned over and looked. "Oooh, what about the grilled cheese with French fries?" she asked.

Madeleine looked skeptically at Kate and blinked.

"Kate," she said matter-of-factly. "I just do not think this place can make it like Daddy grilled cheese," she informed the brunette. Kate laughed and shrugged her shoulders, while Abby leaned back and spoke to their waitress, telling her they needed just a few more minutes.

"My, this is turning out to be a _big_ decision," Abby sighed.

"I decide ice cream," Madeleine informed Abby.

"Maddie, it's been very important to you lately that people treat you like a big girl, right?" Kate asked breezily.

"Yes ma'am," Madeleine answered, nodding primly. "I am four."

Kate grinned.

"Then let me tell you the big girl's secret," Kate went on, lowering her voice surreptitiously. "We eat ice cream in our pajamas at night while we watch movies and paint our nails," she divulged, wiggling her brows, "but for lunch and breakfast and dinner, we eat healthier sorts of foods. Now, Abby and I totally think you're a big girl," Kate paused, and tapped the menu.

Madeleine tilted her head. She pointed to it.

"Read me choice, please," she said.

"Well, you can have that grilled cheese, or you can have grilled chicken tenders or some pasta—"

"I would like pasta, Kate," Madeleine interrupted, tapping her menu. "Ima cooks pasta."

"Awesome!" Abby said, gathering all their menus and folding them so their server would know they were ready to order. "What kind of pasta does your mama cook?" she asked conversationally.

"Red squiggly kinds," Madeleine answered vaguely, holding her hand out sassily and wiggling her fingers at the older women. "Paint nails?" she asked, her brow puckering.

Abby beamed and spread her sparkly black and white nails out for the four-year-old to admire, and Madeleine did so readily, her eyes lighting up.

"Abby!" she cried. "Abby, Abby! Make my nails pretty!" she insisted, clasping her hands.

Abby laughed.

"Let's just get through lunch first," she soothed, "_then_ we'll bug your daddy to let us paint your nails."

* * *

><p>At seven o'clock, two hours later than he'd meant to be at work, Gibbs ventured down to Abby's lab to retrieve his daughter from the clutches of her adoring babysitter. He was satisfied to hear <em>faint<em> music drifting from the lab—meaning it was at a healthy volume—and the unmistakable content laughter of Madeleine.

She had been a bit broody since the temper tantrum concerning the earrings, and he had the lurking suspicion it was because she hadn't spoken to her mother since her birthday. Gibbs had had a few quick parenting conversations with Jen, but other than that, their schedules simply weren't _meshing_.

"Abby," Gibbs greeted, strolling into the lab.

"Daddy!" chirped Madeleine, waving to him from the metal table in the middle of the room. She sat atop it with a coloring book in front of her and two stickers on her face; one on her forehead, and one lopsidedly covering half her nose and some of her cheek. He grinned at the sight of her.

"Hey Princess," he greeted, and she stood up, prancing towards him and holding her arms out insistently. He swept her up and hugged her compliantly, about to ask her how her day was when a sparkle in her left ear caught his eye and he changed his tune—sharply.

"Abby," he hissed, cupping Madeleine's cheek and holding her face so he could look at her ear better.

"Gibbs, don't freak out."

"Her mother is going to _kill_ me!" Gibbs nearly shouted, staring at the glimmery heart-shaped earrings in Madeleine's little ears.

"Gibbs!" Abby placated, walking over to them. She gently took Madeleine's ear and effortlessly flicked the earring off, leaving a clean ear and no pinprick to speak of. Confused, Gibbs stared at Madeleine's now bare ear and then looked suspiciously at the other ear. Madeleine reached up and played with it, taking the glimmery heart off and sticking it to her nose.

"Sticky," she said brightly.

"They're stick-on earrings," Abby informed Gibbs, plucking the one she'd flicked off of Gibb's shirt and sticking it on her own nose. She giggled and ruffled Madeleine's hair. "There's no needles or care involved," she explained. "Kate buys them for her nieces."

Gibbs eyed the sticky earrings with interest, calming down slightly. Fake earrings were okay; fake earrings meant Jenny wasn't going to rip his throat out for going behind her back and making her look like the mean Mom.

"Is it okay, Aba?" Madeleine asked quietly, tilting her head. She took the heart off her nose and placed it crookedly back on her ear. Gibbs fixed it straight for her and then nodded, giving her his permission.

"It's okay," he decided. "It's a nice compromise."

Madeleine cheered happily and then twisted in his arms to look at Abby. Abby was already beaming and snatching something off the metal table. She held up a pack of the stick-on earrings and gave Gibbs a wicked smirk.

"Glad you like them, _el jefe_," she crooned. "We bought you some, too!"

"Daddy put the stars on," Madeleine instructed quite seriously.

He gave the girls the most tortured look he could muster, but he did it—he couldn't really say no, and he couldn't fight Abby off with Madeleine in his arms.

It wasn't as if any agent still in the bullpen had the gall to mock Agent Gibbs about his sparkly star earrings when they saw him sporting them proudly as he left for the day.

* * *

><p>Gibbs was careful not to wash the dishes from supper too loudly, as he was attempting to listen in on Maddie's conversation. Multitasking at work was easy; multitasking with Madeleine was difficult. If she wasn't in his immediate sightline, she was doing something potentially risky—and even though she should be safely seated in the living room, chattering away to her mother, he never really knew what his daughter was going to get up to.<p>

Spending too much time with Abby and DiNozzo, as well as wily other little kids at daycare, was teaching her _things_ Mossad had never offered. Things like how to talk back and scream really, _really_ loudly when she was frustrated.

"Daddy," she piped up, startling him.

He dropped a plate into the sink; he hadn't even heard her come scampering across the kitchen. She stood in front of him, beaming.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Mama wants to see your apron," Madeleine said, tugging on the edge of it.

"No," Gibbs answered, reaching down and gently pushing Madeleine towards the living room. "Tell your mother that's classified."

Madeleine happily bounded off, and Gibbs listened to her relaying the message to Jenny. He grinned. It was odd to hear Jenny and Madeleine conversing in the living room while he did dishes; it was almost normal. It was as if he was back in a time when his family had lived together happily. He liked it a lot, and he didn't question Jenny's sudden plethora of free time to just sit and chat with Madeleine.

Madeleine skipped back into the kitchen.

"Mama says she has more clear ants than you," she informed him blithely.

"Clear ants?" he asked, arching his brow. "Clear—what—_oh_," he figured it out when he started to repeat it again. "Clearance?" he asked. Madeleine nodded. She put her hand on her hip and wagged her finger at him.

"Aba, you show Mama your apron now," she ordered.

"Can't," he protested. "Washing dishes still." He held up two plates covered in soap and gave her a forlorn look. "Go tell Mom I'm busy doing her job."

"Okay Daddy."

Madeleine was off again, unwittingly delivering a message that would earn him a snappy glare from Jenny—if he had been in the room when she delivered it. He did hurry up finishing the dishes, though. He was eager to sit down and talk to Jen himself. He missed her—he missed her a lot.

He turned off the water, dried his hands, removed the apron, and when he turned to leave the kitchen, Madeleine was peeking around the corner of the wall. He smiled at her and she grinned back in a solemn way, raising her eyebrow.

"Ima says she does not want to see you anymore," she said soberly.

Gibbs grinned smugly, satisfied with himself, and strolled up to Madeleine. She turned to dart away, but he caught her and swept her into the cradle of his arms, burying his face in her hair and growling at her playfully.

"Ima can't resist me," he drawled gallantly, transporting Madeleine to the couch and sitting down proudly in front of the laptop. He flexed his muscles as she giggled in his lap and then he smirked, and focused on Jenny—

-and did his best to compose his features and hide his reaction to her face from his daughter.

He swallowed hard before he said anything, and he knew the look in Jenny's eye was a silent warning not to say anything, so he didn't. He kept quiet, and he let Madeleine break the brief, but tense, silence.

"No apron, Ima, but Daddy still has the earrings in," she announced proudly, reaching up and stroking Gibbs' ear. She giggled and pulled one of the star stickers off of his lobe, showing it to Jenny and then sticking it on the end of her nose.

"_Look_!" Madeleine said, holding her shirt up. She put the star on her bellybutton and smiled, wiggling her fingers smugly. "Tummy ring," she said happily.

Gibbs quickly removed the sticker and placed it on his jeans.

"That will never happen," he said seriously. Jenny laughed, and Madeleine shrugged. She started to begin speaking again, but Gibbs cut her off. "Emmy, go put on your new pajamas to show Mom," he said authoritatively.

"Is it bed time?" she asked, pouting.

"No," Gibbs answered.

"I'm going to read you a story," Jenny spoke up gently. "I have a copy of the Velveteen Rabbit ready to go."

Madeleine's eyes lit up and she scrambled off Gibbs lap, darting off towards her bedroom noisily. Immediately, he stiffened and leaned closer to the laptop screen, narrowing his eyes at Jenny's face, taking in the bruise blooming over her temple and on her cheek, and the cut lip that swelled just under her nose.

"Jethro."

"What happened to your face?" he cut her off tersely.

"Jethro," she said calmly. "Thank you for not making a big deal of it in front of her."

"She didn't notice?"

"She was too excited."

Gibbs nodded curtly.

"It isn't as bad as it looks," Jenny said tiredly. "My team hit some unexpected hand-to-hand combat on our last op," she explained quickly and in an undertone. Madeleine knocked over something in her room with a loud _bang_. Gibbs' head snapped in that direction. He waited to see if she would cry; she didn't, and he looked back at Jenny.

"They gave you medical leave," he said suspiciously, putting it together. That's why she'd had so much free time the past two days. "Had to be pretty bad."

"It wasn't me," she insisted. "It was one of my men, he took a knife to the gut."

"Could've been you, Jen," Gibbs said tensely.

"Well, you can give your regards to Fitzgerald," she said tartly. "Thanks to him, it wasn't." She gave Gibbs a bitter smile. "Even men who _don't_ like me can't fight the misogynistic need to save a damsel in distress."

"Maybe you should thank that misogynistic need," Gibbs muttered under his breath, mocking her a little.

"Fitz has a family, too, Jethro," she said. "I can't have him giving his life for mine. He doesn't even know about Madeleine."

"Well, he should, Jen," Gibbs said angrily. "I can't have you ending up dead. I need you," he said. He flinched. What he had meant to say was 'Maddie needs you,' but it had come out wrong, and he didn't take it back. He glared at her—and she smiled softly.

"I'm being careful, Jethro," she assured him, green eyes full of sincerity. "My life isn't a revenge driven suicide mission anymore."

Gibbs studied her for a moment, and then relaxed slowly, starting to smile. Madeleine came back into the room dragging her favorite stuffed rabbit and dressed up in the new blue pajamas Noemi had surprised her with. It was a soft, light nightgown with embroidered birds on it, courtesy of the talented housekeeper herself.

Madeleine presented herself to Jenny with her arms out, and Jenny nodded her approval.

"It's stunning, darling," she said brightly. Madeleine beamed, and turned and climbed into Gibbs' lap, snuggling up to him comfortably and then looking at Jenny expectantly from his arms.

And then, Madeleine took it upon herself to blithely ruin the moment in that innocent way children do by stating, out of the blue that—

"Emily says her Ima used to be married to Daddy."

* * *

><p>Jenny cocked her eyebrow as Gibbs sat back down on the couch in front of her. He rubbed his forehead sheepishly and stretched; his arms were stiff from holding Madeleine while she slept—and she'd fallen asleep halfway through <em>The Velveteen Rabbit<em>.

"She's tucked in snugly?" Jenny asked.

He nodded, leaning forward and resting his arms on his knees. He clasped his hands and waited for Jenny to go on, and she did.

"That was surprisingly easy," she drawled, smirking.

"Yeah, be glad Emmy has a short attention span," Gibbs muttered, still psychologically bruised from the short albeit confusing conversation they'd just had with Madeleine about just what _exactly_ Emily meant when she said her mom used to be Gibbs' wife.

"So now there's only one other wife we have to get out of the way, and we're good," Jenny said cheerily.

"You make it sound like we're murdering them," Gibbs said sarcastically. She didn't respond, and he assumed it was because she wasn't sure what was tactful—considering he'd just made a half-assed joke about murdering his ex-wives, when in fact the only one he'd ever really loved had been murdered.

"Do you think she understands?" Jenny asked.

Gibbs shrugged. He looked at his hands.

"She asked me what a wife was when I told her about Shannon and Kelly," he explained. He hesitated. "I said it was someone you promised to love forever."

Jenny was quiet for a moment.

"Goddamnit," she sighed.

"What?"

"Jethro, if you told her that, then _we_ just told her you broke that promise to a woman."

He looked at Jenny tiredly, searching for something to say.

"She's too young to connect it like that," he said.

"She's too _young_ to find out that love _isn't_ painless and wonderful," Jenny retorted. Her voice wavered, and Gibbs gave her an alarmed look.

"She's fine, Jen."

"She's going to be messed up!" Jenny nearly wailed, her eyes shining with worried tears. "What if she gets cynical before she ever has a chance to be optimistic and trusting?"

Jenny looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something that would calm her down or reassure her fears.

"Not gonna happen," he said gruffly.

She scoffed at him, and a little nastily at that.

"What do you know?" she asked.

He gave her an annoyed look and threw his arms out.

"She's got us, Jen," he said patiently. "We did everything we could to give her a intercontinental family, you think she's going to grow up thinking love isn't about optimism and trust?" He raised his eyebrow and shook his head. "You might as well tell her she'll never see you again."

Jenny swallowed. She blinked at him, startled, and he just rolled is eyes skeptically.

"Don't panic, Jen," he soothed. "Madeleine will be all right."

"Well, yeah," Jenny choked out, obviously startled by what he'd said and his good sense. She looked at him intently. "Yeah, as long as she's got you, Jethro," she said fiercely—and she smiled at him.

He grinned, and leaned back.

They had a few hours to themselves now, and they were in a good place.

* * *

><p>"Did you know Madame has a kid?" NCIS Cairo Special Agent Fitzgerald smacked his gum loudly and swiveled in his chair, bored with his surveillance, and looking for a way to fill the silence. His counterpart glanced over at him from his surveillance screen and shook his head after a moment.<p>

"Nah, no way," Special Agent Holland answered. "Shepard doesn't have a maternal bone in her body," he said snidely, and then snorted derisively. "_And_ she's frigid."

Fitzgerald frowned and shook his head.

"No, she has a kid," he argued. "Little girl. She's like seven or something."

Holland gave him an incredulous-skeptical look.

"She _can't_, Harry," he said intently. "She was working deep cover ops the past few years."

Fitzgerald grinned, shrugged, and popped his gum thoughtfully.

"Maybe deep cover got in a little _deep_," he remarked lightly, snickering to himself. He propped his feet up on the control board he was monitoring, glancing back at the video cameras lining the room. "Holland, she's got a kid," he said seriously, giving his colleague a look.

"Yeah? Okay, say she does," Holland retorted uncaringly. "Doesn't make her less of a bitch. Hell, it makes her _more_ of a bitch—she's got a kid, she should know where we're coming from when we're hesitant to do something that might take us away from _ours_."

Fitzgerald frowned and didn't respond. He didn't exactly feel that way.

"Why do you think she's got a kid, anyway?" Holland barreled on bitterly.

"I saw a picture in her desk," Fitzgerald answered.

"What the hell were you doing in Madame's desk?"

"_On_ her desk," Fitzgerald corrected, rolling his eyes. "She must've left it out."

"How do you know it was hers?"

"Holland," Fitzgerald said, arching a brow seriously. "It was hers."

"That photograph, Agent Fitzgerald, was not for your eyes."

Fitzgerald, startled as he was, was a little pleased to see Holland jump and blanche instantly as he realized Shepard must have been lurking around—probably overhearing—their exchange.

The redhead had an unreadable expression on her face as she silently _thunked!_ a cup of coffee down on the desk in front of both male agents and then took up her chair by the big analysis screens, knocking one of her empty coffee cups aside and curling her palms around a new, full one.

"Saw it by accident, Shepard," Fitzgerald answered apologetically.

"And you assumed she is mine?" Jenny asked, taking a drink of her coffee, her back turned to Fitzgerald.

"I, well," he faltered. "Well, yeah."

"Why?"

"Kid looks like you."

Jenny softly put her cup down. She ran her finger around the edge of the plastic top and smiled faintly, her lips turning up at the corner. Fitzgerald saw the slight smile, and relaxed. Holland still looked awkward, as if he was expecting Jenny to attack him for what she must have overheard him saying. He felt threatened by her, and because of that, he didn't like her.

"So, is she yours, Shepard?" Holland asked abruptly.

She looked over at him, and his cheeks slightly flushed, which she noted with satisfaction. She considered what her answer would be for a moment, and knew instantly that in this particular situation, she never wanted to have to tell her daughter or Jethro that she'd denied Madeleine's existence, so she said:

"Yes, she is mine."

Fitzgerald grinned.

"What's her name?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Aw, why the cloak and dagger routine?" Fitz whined. "You know both of my kids."

"Those deep cover missions I worked put me in close contact with some unsavory characters," Jenny answered curtly and rather vaguely.

"You have any reason to believe you didn't get out clean?" Fitzgerald asked her.

"You never know," she retorted seriously. She took a drink of her coffee and looked over at him. "I'd rather the two of you be in utter ignorance, just in case."

Fitzgerald nodded slowly, swiveling in his chair again and sipping his own coffee. He shrugged after a moment and absorbed himself back in his work, apparently deciding he was utterly and completely satisfied with what she'd said. Fitzgerald had grown on Jenny, and he had gotten over his initial negative reaction to her—they worked better together now. Holland was a different story; she was never going to see eye-to-eye with Holland, and he was never going to try while he thought his sex authorized him to look down on her.

She pressed her lips against her Styrofoam cup thoughtfully, and then turned in her chair, focusing on Holland. She waited until he noticed the glare and looked up at her, uncomfortable and yet still managing a glint of defiance. He swallowed and his eyelid twitched; he looked like he was struggling to find something to say—small talk or an insult, she didn't know which.

Either would be unpleasant, she was sure, so she plunged forward with her reprimand, because she was sick of tip-toing around Holland's behavior in the name of diplomacy. Sometimes, in the back of her head, something whispered: _Ziva David would never stand for this bullshit_.

"I am not a bitch," she said firmly.

"You're—" he burst out, as if he'd been waiting for her to defend herself. He swallowed, his face flushing again. "You don't empathize with us. Fitz and I are both fathers; we express hesitancy about your reckless, foolhardy missions, and you coldly throw it back in our faces—and now we find out you're a mother. You should get where we're coming from-if you're _any_ kind of caring mother."

Fitzgerald snapped around and stared at Holland in disbelief. It was surely to her credit that Jenny did not bat an eyelid at the sharp insult; she arched one eyebrow just a bit and waited in silence for Holland's words to seep in, so he could hear just how offensive he'd been. She waited until the angry flush in his cheeks blanched slightly.

"Agent Holland, would you ever say such a thing to a male member of the United States military?" she asked coolly, and then abruptly corrected: "To any member, rather. Of any military."

He didn't answer; his jawline hardened and he swallowed, his eyes flashing a little.

"You wouldn't," she answered for him. "You would hail a soldier as a hero; you would not accuse him or her of abandoning or not caring for his or her family. You would never think to suggest a Marine was recklessly and thoughtlessly endangering his or her own life; you would applaud them for doing a job that no one really wants. And so why, Agent Holland, do you see our situation as an exception to the rule of serving and protecting?"

Holland leaned forward. He looked down at his hands, his brow furrowing.

"We aren't soldiers, Shepard," he said, his tone less aggressive. "We don't join federal agencies with a soldier's mindset."

Maybe it was because her mentor had been a soldier, but his words pissed her off.

"Then you joined with the wrong mindset," she said aggressively. "I _chose_ NCIS. I made the conscious decision to join a federal protective agency. I signed up for this. I knew the risks. I knew what I might have to do to assist the military and the government to keep the home front _safe," _she paused briefly and narrowed her eyes at him. "When I had my daughter, I had to make that choice again. I could have left my job. I didn't—and because I chose to commit still to NCIS, that means I commit completely. It doesn't mean I avoid conflict or slack on my job because I'm afraid I may lose my life. If nothing else, it reinforces my confidence in my job. I do what I do for my child, and for every other American parent's child. And if I lose my life in the process, my daughter will always know that I valued responsibility over cowardice."

"I am not a coward, Shepard," Holland barked. "I want to see my twins grow up."

"I want to see my girl grow up," Jenny responded quietly. "I don't use it as an excuse."

Holland turned away, swallowing again. He seemed chastised.

"How does her father feel about that?" he muttered sarcastically.

Frustrated that she was still not getting through like she wanted to, Jenny turned away. She picked up her headphones, adjusted the picture on the screen, and lifted her cup to her lips.

"The men in her family are soldiers," she said curtly. "They feel," she added, vague and curt.

She took a long drink of her bitter brew, shut out the sounds of Holland's grumbling, and resolved to call Jethro tonight—then she could let out the _real_ petty bitch Holland was never going to be privileged enough to see.

* * *

><p>Gibbs looked at his watch and abruptly stood up, gathering up his things. His packing up so early in the day immediately drew the attention of Kate and DiNozzo, who both stopped musing through their latest case and turned to stare at him. He pulled the clip out of his gun and holstered it, grabbed his keys, and locked his desk.<p>

"Uh, you leavin' for the day, Boss?" DiNozzo asked.

He nodded curtly.

"Is Maddie okay?" Kate asked, concerned.

"She's fine," he answered. "Got a parent-teacher conference," he added, checking the time again. He'd stayed at headquarters as long as he could while still giving himself enough time to get out to Fairfax in time to make the meeting with Madeleine's teacher. He saw the snarky comment in DiNozzo's grin before the other agent could get it out, and even though he glared at him, DiNozzo still had the guts to say it.

"Boss, that's so _motherly_ of you."

He was rewarded for his courage with a head slap to the back of the head, which he soothed by rubbing with a half-frown.

"I'm in charge?" DiNozzo asked, obviously already believing he was.

"Nope," Gibbs answered shortly. "Kate's turn," he said, handing her the reigns for once. It was about time Kate be handed some team-leader responsibility once in a while. She'd been around long enough.

He heard Kate snicker and snatch the laser pointer away from DiNozzo and rolled his eyes as he made his way to the elevator. A few days ago, one of Madeleine's instructors had called and asked for a meeting to _discuss_ Madeleine's _imagination_. Gibbs didn't know what the hell that meant, but the woman had sounded a little bit snotty about the whole thing, and Gibbs highly doubted that Madeleine had an abnormal imagination for a child her age. She was doing well at home, and she was equally as engaged when he brought her to work.

She was comfortable now; she was at home now. She didn't miss her mother as much—that is, she didn't let it consume her and worry her and induce her to fall into speaking Hebrew when she didn't get her way. It didn't make sense for her to suddenly be making up wild stories in pre-school, not anymore than a normal four-year-old, at least.

Whatever it was, he was about to find out.

* * *

><p>"Hi, Daddy!"<p>

"Hi, Princess," he greeted gruffly, picking her up and giving her a kiss on the forehead. She giggled and pointed to the puzzle she'd been doing when he walked in.

"When I am done, it will have a tiger on it," she said seriously.

"You doin' that all by yourself?" Gibbs asked, impressed.

Madeleine grinned.

"No, no, Aba, Big Maddie helps," she said, squirming. "Put me down, please," she requested.

He complied, and not a moment too soon, as Maddie Tyler came back leading Madeleine's primary instructor. Kelly's best friend smiled at him and sat down cross-legged before the puzzle while Gibbs turned to the woman he'd be talking to.

"Mr. Gibbs?" she asked, extending her hand.

He nodded, and she smiled, very business-like.

"Sarah Reed," she said. "We can talk in my office, right this way."

After letting go of a firm handshake, she led him a small ways off into her office and shut the door. She gestured that he should have a seat, which he took, and leaned forward, arching a brow. He didn't want to waste time with pleasantries, but he figured he was going to have to sit through it anyway—

"Madeleine is a wonderful, bright little girl," began Ms. Reed.

-Yeah, there they were. Pleasantries.

"She's kind to her peers, and she shows an exceptional grasp of language for her age," Reed went on.

"But," Gibbs supplied, sensing it was there.

The woman smiled and inclined her head, leaning forward. She interlocked her fingers in a steeple-like formation and pointed towards him.

"But," she agreed, looking a bit apologetic. "It's come to our attention that Madeleine has a _fanciful_ imagination," Reed explained. "She's prone to making up stories, and we fear it could be attention-seeking behavior that could be a precursor to dangerous acts in the future. We are just concerned that Madeleine feels she isn't receiving enough attention at home."

Gibbs blinked, narrowing his eyes slightly. He needed a few seconds to make sure he was right in understanding that this woman was accusing him of neglecting his daughter.

"Madeleine gets plenty of attention," he said tensely. It was an inarguable fact—between him, the team, Noemi, and the play dates she had with Emily Fornell, Madeleine had more than enough attention to exhaust her and _then_ some.

Reed smiled demurely.

"Sometimes it's easy to think that," she said solemnly. "I understand that you're a single father, and in situations such as this, it's often difficult to balance work with appropriate family time in the home."

"Ms. Reed," Gibbs interrupted, still trying to control his voice. "What kind of stories is she _making up_, exactly?" he demanded, suddenly curious about what Madeleine was supposedly telling crazy lies about.

Reed looked at bit flustered.

"Ah, well," she began. "According to reports from a few other instructors, and based on what I've heard myself, she appears to think her mother lives in Israel or Egypt—depending on the day—and that she had babysitters that were either ninjas or lions."

Sarah Reed looked a bit embarrassed to be relating such a tale, whereas Gibbs didn't think he could be more pissed off if he _tried_. He reached up and rubbed his jaw, bracing his muscles in order to keep his voice at a calm level. So Madeleine _wasn't_ lying; she was telling people about where she'd lived for most of her life, and she was being told it was just her imagination. It bothered him beyond belief that her instructors hadn't tried to see what she might be talking about before they inferred that she was lying for _attention_.

"Madeleine was born in Israel," Gibbs said tightly. "Where she lived with her mother until she was three years old and her mother moved to Egypt." He took pleasure in the look that spread over Reed's face. "I took custody of her when her mother was sent to Cairo. I can only assume that when she says her babysitter was a lion or a ninja, she means a man named Ari, whose Hebrew name means lion, or a woman named Tali, who was a trained Mossad operative."

"Mr. Gibbs, we had _no_ idea—"

"Well, you didn't ask, did you?" he interrupted gruffly. "Did the fact that she speaks _two_ languages _fluently_ not give you an idea she might be telling the truth?"

Reed seemed to be at an embarrassed loss for words.

"We have no background information for Madeleine, Mr. Gibbs!" Reed said earnestly. "You registered her with one emergency contact, a young man who has no relation to yourself!"

"Agent DiNozzo is a colleague," Gibbs asserted firmly. "He's the only person to be contacted if I can't be," he added, just to reinforce that rule. "Her immunization records are from Israel," he reminded the woman skeptically.

She rubbed her forehead and then stood up, giving him an apologetic smile.

"I have to apologize, then," she said, and Gibbs—though he was still seething—could tell she was sincere in her apology. "Mr. Gibbs, I had _no_ intention of accusing you of neglecting your daughter. Like I said, she's a very lovely child. We just have to cover all bases, you see."

He stood as well and eyed the hand she extended to him cautiously. He was mad, but he could see where she might be right—perhaps there were parents who had no idea what was going on in their children's lives, and if Sarah Reed's offensive insinuation against him was part of a requirement that might protect another child, he couldn't begrudge her that.

He took her hand and shook it, nodding slowly.

"I hope this won't induce you to remove Madeleine from our center," Reed said earnestly. "She really does excel here."

He waved his hand, shaking his head. He wasn't going to uproot her for something like this. But before he let this be put behind him, he had to ask—

"Has any teacher told her she's making this up?" he wanted to know. "I don't want her being told her mother's part of her _imagination_."

"No, Mr. Gibbs," Reed said. "We did not address the issue with Madeleine. We were waiting to hear your opinion."

"Good," he said under his breath. He couldn't imagine the tears he'd be dealing with if these people had started to tell Madeleine her mother was made up. She'd start thinking she was never going to see Jenny again, and he couldn't bear her thinking that.

"Well, ah, again I must apologize for the insult and for taking you out of work early," Reed told him, leading him towards the door. She opened it and gestured outward, inclining her head. "I can look forward to hearing about Madeleine's interesting life, then," she added with a small smile.

Gibbs gave her a cordial nod and slipped past her. Maddie Tyler stood up as he came back into the room they'd been playing in. She winked at him, tucking her blonde hair behind her ears.

"I knew she wasn't making up stories," she said in a quiet voice, and clasped her hands as she looked down at Madeleine. "You ready to go home?" she asked.

Madeleine nodded and hopped up with agility, darting around the puzzle to Gibbs and wrapping an arm around his leg.

"I shall see you tomorrow, Big Maddie," she said, waving goodbye formally. Gibbs smiled and ruffled her hair, taking her hand in his. He said his goodbyes to Maddie Tyler and walked outside with Madeleine, letting her swing his hand back and forth.

"Why did Miss Reed ask to speak words with you?"

"Well," Gibbs began, "she thought you were making up stories about your mom," he explained. "She didn't know you were telling the truth. She thought you wanted more attention."

"Oh," Madeleine said, and stopped. She stomped her foot and looked up at him. "I am the center of Daddy's attention!" she shouted indignantly. He laughed and picked her up, though she was too old to be carried around unnecessarily.

"You are," he agreed, touching her nose with his. "Emmy, you would tell me if you wanted more attention, right?" he asked.

She crinkled her face up and snuggled up close to him, nodding.

"So, why're you talkin' about your mom so much at school?" Gibbs asked, switching gears.

"I miss Ima," Madeleine answered promptly. "Have not seen her in a long time, and in Israel, Daddy, when I not see you in a long time, you show up!" she reminded him, lifting her head and grinning. The smile faded. "Ima does not show up," she said quietly.

Gibbs frowned a little and shifted his hands, supporting her with one while he crossed the street and then reached for his keys.

"Yeah, I know," he said sympathetically. "Mommy's job makes her stay all the way in Egypt," he explained.

"Can we go see her?" Madeleine asked curiously.

"It's too dangerous a place for you, Em," Gibbs answered. He let her slide down as they approached the car and he opened the back door for her, leaning in to help her get buckled. "We don't want to risk it."

Madeleine giggled.

"I would laugh at danger's face to see Ima," she said bravely, gnashing her teeth. She pretended to _roar_ at him, and he'd watched The Lion King enough to know she was pretending to be Simba. He ruffled her hair as he clicked her car seat's belt in.

"Keep workin' on that roar, cub," he said seriously. "It'll come in handy someday." He backed up and started to shut the door.

"Aba," she said seriously, her voice going up hesitantly. "I _am_ brave 'nough to go see Ima," she told him.

He tilted his head and leaned back into the car.

"I know you are," he said earnestly, and smiled gently. "She and I aren't brave enough to risk losing you, okay?" he explained. "I know it's no fun missing your mom, but we love you too much to have you in danger."

She frowned and studied him with interest, and then sighed, resigned.

"No Mama for Christmas?" she asked, struggling with the word. "No Hanukkah?" _That_ she pronounced perfectly.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he said. "But to make up for it, we can celebrate both," he soothed. "And hey, you get to go trick-or-treating this year!" he added.

"Oh yeah, _candy_ walking!" she exclaimed, instantly energized and excited. Gibbs grinned and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He shut her in the back seat and quickly came around front to start the car for the semi-short drive home.

"Do you know what you want to be for Halloween, Emmy?" he asked absently, as he was maneuvering the car around the parking garage.

"Yes," she answered seriously. He glanced at her in the rearview mirror and her eyes crinkled with excitement and amusement.

"What?"

"Abby!" Emmy cried smugly.

Faced with the prospect of telling Jenny that their child wanted to be gothic for her first real American Halloween, Gibbs suddenly wanted to bang his head against the steering wheel.

* * *

><p>"Her teacher sat in front of me and called her a <em>liar<em>," Gibbs fumed, holding the phone to his ear with one hand and glaring at a pot of water, willing it to boil. He'd intended to relay the story to Jenny lightly, but bringing it up again just pissed him off all over, and he ended up raging about it to her. "It's one thing to think she wants attention, she's a kid, but to accuse her of _lying_?"

Gibbs scoffed indignantly and muttered under his breath. On the other end of the line, Jenny giggled.

"You think it's _funny_, Jen?" he demanded, outraged.

"No, it's just," she broke off. "Well, it's amusing to hear you so indignant on her behalf. It's cute, Jethro," she said.

"It's not _cute_," he retorted. "Her teacher called her a liar!"

"Yes. That's annoying," Jenny agreed lightly. "But you're cute. You're sweet. You're so protective."

Gibbs grumbled to himself, still trying to glare the damn pasta water into boiling. He fell silent and then tilted his head back and forth.

"She misses you," he said gruffly. "She wants you for Christmas."

"I miss you both," Jenny answered. "You know I can't, though."

"I told her. Think she's okay with it," Gibbs answered, shrugging. "The Stripe thing helps a lot."

"Skype, Jethro. It's called Skype."

"Whatever," he snapped back. "It's like from Star Trek or somethin'."

Jenny laughed.

"You know a while back you referenced comic books, now you're mentioning Star Trek, your daughter loves Star Wars—did you have any friends when you were a teenager?" she asked wryly.

Gibbs glared indiscriminately ahead of him, frowning into the phone as if she might hear him.

"I had girlfriends," he muttered petulantly.

"Are you really trying to make me jealous?"

"Is it working?"

"No," she answered breezily. "I had the baby. I have the trump card," she asserted, obviously unthreatened by any old flames of his. She snorted. "You have wandering eyes, Jethro?" she asked.

"Yeah," he retorted, rolling those eyes. "They wander," he muttered gruffly. "All the way to Egypt."

"Aren't you romantic," she drawled. "What's Madeleine doing?"

"Colouring," he answered. "Or watching TV. I don't know."

"You don't _know_?"

"She's in the other room, Jen."

"She's un_supervised_?" Jenny asked, her voice going up indignantly. "Jethro, what's wrong with you? She's four!"

"Yeah," he answered calmly, "She's four, and she's a good kid, and she's safe in her room entertaining herself."

He had relaxed recently about leaving Madeleine in room alone. He wouldn't allow her in the basement or the kitchen alone, but her bedroom, his bedroom, or the play areas were fine. She was adventurous but she was also relatively well-behaved, and his initial wariness of leaving her alone had faded quickly when he got back into the swing of having a kid around. Jenny's it seemed, had not.

_Jenny_ seemed to be finding something wrong with that explanation. She grumbled and spluttered and Gibbs grinned to himself, pouring pasta into the boiling water and tossing the box aside. He picked up a spatula and started to poke around the noodles.

"When did she start being old enough to be left alone? She's not, Jethro, she's—I never left her alone. I always had someone with her," Jenny paused, and he jumped in.

"I'm right here if something goes wrong," he placated. "She's fine, Jen, she plays by herself while I make dinner all the time," he explained.

"Can you just go check on her?"

Gibbs rolled his eyes and held the phone away from his mouth a little bit.

"Emmy, what are you doing?" he yelled.

He heard Jenny squawk in outrage at his lazy attempt to _check on her_. He ignored her and instead listened to the quick, excitable footsteps that echoed on the hardwood floor as his daughter scampered from her room down the hall and into the kitchen. She barreled straight into his leg and hugged him, holding tightly to a Barbie doll in one hand.

She looked up at him brightly and shook the doll at him.

"Playin' Barbies, Aba," she said. "This one is Ima."

Gibbs ruffled her hair and nodded.

"She has replaced you with a blonde Barbie doll," he told Jenny solemnly, turning back to the phone and glancing flippantly at the noodles.

"As long as it has a cute outfit," Jenny deadpanned.

"Daddy," Madeleine said. "Ima Barbie is getting married to Pony Ken."

"Hey," Gibbs said, glaring down at Madeleine. "No way, punk," he said, shaking his head. "Tell Pony Ken to keep his grimy paws off of Mom. She's mine."

Madeleine giggled.

"What's she saying?" Jenny asked eagerly.

"She says you're leaving me for DiNozzo," growled Gibbs. "Got somethin' to tell me?"

"What's he look like?" she asked.

"But Daddy, I don't have a doll that looks same as you do," Madeleine said, having not yet picked up on her father's phone conversation. She stepped back and put her hands on her hips, accidentally dropping the Barbie to the floor. "Ken _looks_ like Pony."

"Make sure you tell him that, Em," Gibbs said seriously. "I'll buy you a GI Joe," he added.

"What is that?"

"It's a manly doll," he answered. "What, Jenny?" he asked. He'd missed something she said.

"I said don't just be _buying_ her things without occasion, she'll get spoiled!"

"Okay."

"You're buying her everything she wants, aren't you?" Jenny asked skeptically, unsatisfied with his vague answer.

"Yep."

Jenny sighed; he could practically feel her rolling her eyes.

"I wish I could be mad," she muttered, and let out a breath again. "I don't care," she murmured. "Just keep her safe, Jethro."

"Aba, who is that on the telephone?"

"Your mom," he answered promptly.

Madeleine leapt up, her eyes sparkling. She reached out, dancing around happily, silently demanding the phone, and Gibbs grinned, handing it over without further adieu. Madeleine grasped it in both hands and hugged it to her cheek, sitting promptly on the floor and immediately falling into a jumbled string of Hebrew and English—it was as if Madeleine had never realized that Hebrew _wasn't_ her or her mother's native language. Jenny, he knew, wanted her to remain bilingual, so she kept up speaking it—but he'd rather just scrap the damn language and focus on Madeleine speaking English all the time.

While the four-year-old rambled to her mother, Gibbs focused back on finishing the macaroni and cheese he was fixing for Madeleine for what seemed like the fourth time this week. It was at the top of his list of things he knew how to make for a preschooler—because steaks were out of the question except for a treat—and Madeleine had no problems with eating it. He usually paired it with a different vegetable and let her choose either juice or water with it, and they had a painless dinner.

"Daddy is cooking," Madeleine said loudly, apparently answering a question. She pointed up at him and grinned. "Daddy, are we eating cheesy mac noodles again?" she asked, as if she were being _forced_ to eat her favorite food.

Gibbs raised his eyebrows; relieved Madeleine had the phone so he wouldn't get a huffy earful from Jenny about Madeleine's diet, and pointed a spatula at her seriously.

"Madeleine Jane," he said lightly, preparing to teach her his favorite old Marine adage. "Don't mess with the mess."

* * *

><p>It was pure luck that on this particular 'Maddie Monday,' Gibbs' team had literally nothing to do—no open cases, no paperwork following closed cases, no classes, no training exercises—<em>nothing<em>. They were all pretending to do something, because otherwise Gibbs would find something for them to do, but it was really a surprisingly easy day and the fun of it was that all attention could easily be paid to Madeleine.

As for Madeleine, she was sprawled in the middle of the bullpen on her stomach, contently colouring one of the many colour books she had spread out around her. She also happened to be singing in Hebrew, and even though Gibbs kept gently telling her to pipe down—it was a direct quote, 'pipe down, pipsqueak'—she was sweetly ignoring him.

"You guys think I could solve a cold case from ninety-nine by the end of today?" DiNozzo asked loudly, opening his big mouth and breaking the silence.

"No," Kate answered with a snort.

McGee raised his eyebrows.

"Where did that come from?" he asked.

Gibbs continued blithely ignoring them all, doing whatever he was doing on his computer that had kept him occupied all day.

DiNozzo leaned back, shrugging.

"I was organizing some of the older stuff into databases and online files, and I found some that are probably only cold because of advances we didn't have back then," he explained. "So I was thinkin' we should make a bet on dinner, _Kate_," he wiggled his eyebrows, "and see who can solve it first."

"I wouldn't bet anything against dinner with you, DiNozzo."

"Why, Katie? Afraid of a free meal?"

"Afraid of a meal with _you_," she retorted, and DiNozzo glared at her mildly.

"Fine," he retorted, turning his nose up. He leaned forward and peered at Madeleine over his desk. "Maybe Miss Maddie will go to dinner with me," he coaxed loudly.

When the child looked up at him, he pretended to whistle and look elsewhere. Madeleine grinned at him and lifted her crayon to her head thoughtfully. She crinkled her nose up and scrunched her mouth, pretending to think about it.

"Pony, I want popcorn," she said matter-of-factly.

"Oh, sounds like you're asking me to take you to a movie, too," he said thoughtfully and raised his eyebrows.

"Okay," Madeleine agreed, as if he'd just invited her.

"Gibbs," Kate said primly. "DiNozzo is trying to date your daughter."

Gibbs lifted his eyes over the computer and looked at his senior agent narrowly, peering at DiNozzo with calculated intensity. He seemed to think the warning glare was enough and went back to his work, ignoring the situation. DiNozzo shot a triumphant look at Kate for failing to get him into trouble.

"What case were you looking at?" McGee asked blandly.

"It's a drug bust," DiNozzo answered. "Baxter."

Gibbs glanced up again.

"DiNozzo," he said abruptly, shaking is head slightly when he got Tony's attention. "Don't touch it," he ordered.

On his computer, he pulled up the file and locked them out of it; it was one of his and Jenny's cases from early in Europe, and he had taken to carefully making sure that no one on his team ran across her name in files—it would be too often linked to his, and he didn't want them mentioning Jen in front of Madeleine and unraveling everything.

He saw that inquisitive, sharp flicker of curiosity in DiNozzo's eyes, but he seemed to decide it was best to shut up and shrugged, leaning back from his computer. Madeleine sat back on her heels and ripped her picture out of her colouring book. She looked around loftily, holding it up and tilting her head comically as she carefully thought about whom she was going to give it to.

She got up and waltzed over to Kate, handing her the coloured page silently. Kate took it with a bright smile, thanked Madeleine, and immediately did as the little girl always wanted and pinned it up on the bulletin board behind her.

"You're an artist," Kate said sincerely, ruffling Madeleine's hair.

"Kate," Madeleine said, "did you know there is no no _no_ drawing on the walls?" she asked, widening her eyes. "And no no _no_ drawing on Daddy's boat?"

"No?" Kate repeated, arching her brows seriously.

DiNozzo cackled and then hastily tried to cover his laughter with a fit of dignified coughing.

Madeleine nodded solemnly.

"Yes, Aba? No drawing on the boat?"

Gibbs looked over at her mildly, narrowing his eyes.

"No drawing on the boat," he agreed sternly, shaking his head ever so slightly.

Madeleine crossed her arms and looked at Kate matter-of-factly.

"You cannot even write I love you," she said forlornly.

Three astounded team members were suddenly glaring at Gibbs. He sensed it immediately, glanced up to see what was going on, and did a double take—did they really have the nerve to turn his own glare on him like this? He fixed the glare right back.

"_What_?" he demanded.

"Boss, you—" McGee began hesitantly.

"You got mad at her for writing _I love you_ on the boat?" DiNozzo carried on loudly, looking very indignant. He shot a look around at Kate and McGee and made an outraged noise. "C'mon, Boss," he whined.

"She was just being sweet," Kate piped up.

Taken aback, Gibbs gave Madeleine a baleful look. She had gotten rather crafty and wily of late when it came to smooth-taking others into taking her side. Yes; she had written that cute little I love you message on the boat when he wasn't looking—but that was _after_ she had indiscriminately scribbled all over the damn thing, obscuring his measurements completely with a mixture of oranges, blues, and greens.

She was _four_-years-old. He had been dubiously surprised that she'd done it, considering Kelly's drawing on everything stage happened _way_ earlier.

She beamed at him and fluttered her eyelashes—one of the women in this building had to have taught her that, there was no way she'd come up with it on her own. He raised an eyebrow, choosing not to respond to his team. He was frankly impressed they had the guts to stand up to him about it, but if they were going to take someone's side against him, he was fiercely proud they chose to defend his daughter.

Gibbs crooked his finger at Madeleine and beckoned her over.

"C'mere," he ordered gruffly and shifted back in his chair. "Come look at this one," he said.

Madeleine scampered over and crawled obediently up into Gibbs' lap, snuggling easily up to him and looking happily at his computer screen. The team shot each other slightly confused looks; they had been under the impression Gibbs was working but apparently—

Madeleine lunged forward and pointed to the screen.

"Lovely," she said, and then muttered something in Hebrew, giggled, and flung her head back, looking up at Gibbs with wide eyes. She went off into a string of Hebrew again and then sort of melted back into English. "App-ro-preeee-ate?" she asked, popping her lips with every syllable of the world.

Gibbs grunted affirmatively and nodded.

"E-mail," he muttered. "See what she thinks."

"Whatcha talkin' about, Maddie?" DiNozzo asked nosily.

The team had learned quickly that if they asked Madeleine things rather than Gibbs, they would get answers—albeit answers that sometimes made little sense.

"Candy walking," she answered seriously.

"Trick or treating," Gibbs translated immediately.

"Costume," Madeleine added, straightening up. "I shall have a pretty, pretty costume."

DiNozzo raised his brows.

"Uh," McGee vocalized. "Boss…you've been uh…online shopping this whole time?"

Gibbs answered by fixing a warning glare on McGee, and the geeky agent squeaked, mumbled something, and lowered his eyes, shrugging. Kate looked at DiNozzo with a grin and Tony snickered, leaning forward and putting his hands together. Gibbs—Internet shopping at work, for a preschooler's Halloween costume. It was as if Christmas had come early.

"What, uh," DiNozzo began. "What are you going to be, Madeleine?" he asked.

"Strawberry Shortcake," Madeleine answered proudly, pretending to flip her hair like a little diva. "Emily is being Raspberry Tart," she elaborated matter-of-factly.

Gibbs winced. He wished Madeleine didn't have such a big mouth sometimes.

"You're going trick-or-treating with your ex-wife?!" DiNozzo asked gleefully.

He _could_ have just decided not to say anything, since Madeleine had already blabbed and there was no use trying to mitigate the damage by explaining that it was _Fornell_ he had decided to go with and Diane and Fornell _apparently_ didn't trade years like he and Shannon had. Both of them went every year—but instead of bearing the teasing of DiNozzo in silence, he looked at him defiantly.

"Yeah," he said coolly. "So're you, DiNozzo," he said, and Madeleine shrieked with glee, clapping her hands together.

"Pony, Pony, you can be _My Little Pony!"_

* * *

><p>Madeleine was having the time of her life trick-or-treating—and she seemed to have found her calling in wrangling extra candy out of patrons; she was getting increasingly <em>cuter<em> at every household. Her adorable costume and startling, green puppy-eyes were only a bonus to her charming personality; even _Diane_ couldn't help smiling fondly at her.

Though Diane did seem to be smiling reluctantly, almost as if it were giving her pain—and Fornell kept poking her in the side as if he were reminding her of some deal they had that stipulated she be _nice_. Gibbs chose to politely ignore Diane unless it was necessary to converse with her; he'd gotten pretty good at that when they were married, and it didn't take much to brush the rust off the old technique.

He had an excellent distraction in Madeleine's treatment of DiNozzo, as she was literally using him as a pony and making him piggyback her around most of the neighborhood. It was comical, but she was also just a little inconsiderate in how often she made him pick her up and put her down—not to mention she kept yanking his hair in what looked like an incredibly painful way.

"_Ow_," Tony muttered, reaching up to swat at his cargo. "Hey, HEY, ease up on the money there, Shortcake," he ordered, and when Madeleine giggled and pulled his hair and buried her face in it instead, he shot a meek glare at Gibbs. "Boss," he whined.

"I wouldn't bother, Agent DiNozzo, he hasn't told her _no_ a single time tonight," Diane piped up mildly.

"Diane," Fornell said, taking her arm and glaring at her pointedly. "_Honey_."

Diane fell silent, and Gibbs narrowed his eyes at her. He flicked Madeleine's foot gently and shook his head at her; she loosened her hold on DiNozzo's hair.

"Down, Pony," she ordered, and DiNozzo obediently halted in order to crouch and let her slide off his back. Madeleine scrambled off and darted over to Fornell to catch up with Emily, both children gallivanting off towards the lights of the closest house.

Tony grimaced and rubbed his scalp, crinkling his nose distastefully.

"She's really got a killer grip, Boss," he muttered.

Gibbs smirked.

"Brought it on yourself, DiNozzo."

Tony glared at him and adjusted the fluffy pink ears Madeleine was making him wear on his head.

"She was gonna cry," he protested, pointing at the embarrassing headdress. "It was either I agreed to be Pony the pony, or she _cried_."

Gibbs nodded and shrugged.

"Welcome to parenting," he said dryly.

It was a pick your battles kind of thing, and since letting Madeleine take advantage of Tony for a night didn't harm her physically or emotionally, he was fine with it. He wasn't as uptight about the Halloween thing, either. Emily couldn't go five minutes without her mother reprimanding her sharply or shouting at her for something; he didn't want Madeleine to be anxious about having fun. He was sure it had something to do with the fact that he was an armed federal agent, and so was DiNozzo, whereas Diane was simply a worried mother, but he still wanted to tell her to lighten up a little bit—it was eerie, because sometimes when he'd seen Jen discipline Madeleine, he'd wanted to tell _her_ to lighten up.

He didn't know if that _was_ because he was too indulgent, or because Jenny and Diane _were_ too strict. He supposed he'd have to be in a situation in which he and Jenny were both simultaneously parenting Madeleine to figure it out, and he couldn't use his experience with Kelly as comparison because Kelly and Madeleine were different children, and they reacted differently to rules and regulations.

Madeleine had been demure and obedient in Israel; she had been cautious and timid, raised to be so due to the precarious danger of her constant environment. With her move to the States, she was socialized infinitely more, doted on by many more trustworthy people, and essentially allowed to develop, unleash her personality, and be a child—she latched onto that with surprising vigor.

Kelly had always been rather calm; amusing and happy, but overall, she was a sweet thing with much of the practical, easygoing nature of her mother. Madeleine was temperamental and stubborn and passionate, like—now that he thought about it—_her_ mother. It was odd that nature should come out in Madeleine when she was so many thousands of miles away from Jenny.

"Aba!" cried Madeleine, flying over to him with her pink, strawberry-flecked hat half-falling off of her head. "Aba, look! I got more candy!"

He reached out to steady her, smiling and straightening the cap. Two clips held it on, and he fastened them tighter, struck by the memory of Kelly saying almost exactly the same thing to him.

"What kind?" he asked compliantly, arching his brows at her.

She reached into the bag and showed him a king-sized chocolate bar and he stared, taken aback that someone was giving out candy _that_ size to little kids.

"That'll last you a week," he said pointedly. "Can't eat it all at once."

She shook her head, eyes shining.

"No, no, Ima's _favorite_!" she said, shaking it at him again. "May we send it to her?"

Again, Gibbs was slightly startled. He tilted his head and considered it—it was wrapped, and there shouldn't be any harm in sending Jen a care package. She had always done it for him when Madeleine lived with her. He nodded, and Madeleine squealed, jumping up and down.

"Where would you send it, Boss?" DiNozzo asked casually, as if he could trick Gibbs into dishing on the details of his relationship with Madeleine's mother.

"None of your business."

"_Well_," DiNozzo began seriously, "as her emergency contact, I'd say it is a little bit my—"

He was cut off by a well-aimed head-slap, and went silent with a mild yelp. He glared at Gibbs.

"Hey, Mad Maddie," he said sweetly, as he knelt down to let her onto his back again. "Where does your Mom live?"

Gibbs narrowed his eyes at DiNozzo. His team had really gotten very _good_ at that trick of asking Madeleine things instead of him or when he refused to answer.

Madeleine hugged him around the neck securely, making sure she wouldn't fall, and made a thoughtful noise, tilting her head. She sighed dramatically.

"Galaxy," she announced. "Far, far away—let me back down, Pony," she demanded primly, suddenly quite distracted. "I would like to walk with Emily."

"I want Pony to carry me!" Emily laughed.

"NO." Fornell said, glaring at the agent menacingly.

Tony held up his hands defensively—he had no intention of fueling the fire of Emily Fornell's grade-school crush on him. He was mostly just concerned about the fact that now both children were calling him _Pony_. He crouched, grumbling, and let Madeleine down again. She and Emily skipped off for the next house, and at that moment, Fornell stepped away to answer a page, even under the scathing look Diane gave him for even _thinking_ to accept the call.

"Tobias, _don't_ youm" she broke off, and very nearly stomped her foot. Gibbs recognized the look in her eyes. "Working, always _working_," she muttered, and folded her arms tensely across her chest. "Both of you," she snarled, shooting Gibbs a mean look.

DiNozzo had the nerve to look amused, and Gibbs glared at him, pointing towards the kids.

"Chaperone," he ordered, hanging back to watch.

It seemed to be the norm for Halloween, and he'd forgotten—parents hung back, supervising, at the end of driveways, while the kids stole the _cute_ spotlight and came dashing back to show off their goodies. If he had been alone with Madeleine, Gibbs would have insisted she hold his hand, but since Emily was reveling in being the big kid and seeing to that for him—and he had DiNozzo—he was being lax and letting her run a bit wild.

DiNozzo looked sheepish and shuffled forward. Diane glared at Fornell's back for a moment and then scuffed her foot on the pavement below her; standing stiffly next to Gibbs and watching the little girls wait their turn at a door.

She inclined her redhead towards Emily's blonde one.

"She could have been yours, you know," she said bluntly.

DiNozzo turned his head slightly, eyebrows going way up. Gibbs had to do nothing but shoot him a cold glare, and this time the agent shuffled away for fear of facing his Boss's wrath. He ambled on up the driveway a little, looking comical in the shadow of a porch light with his pony ears on and Madeleine's discarded, sequined purple jacket draped over his shoulders.

Gibbs glanced at his ex-wife mildly.

"Nah," he said gruffly. "I was in," he paused, wracking his brains, remembering when Emily's birthday was. "Prague."

Diane's nose twitched slightly; the corners of her mouth tightened.

"You know what I meant," she said tensely.

He lifted his shoulders, nodded his head a little—he did know what she had meant. Aside from the demands of the Kyle Boon case, and the neglect he'd subjected her to, the issue of children was one that had ultimately caused their split and sent Diane running. There was more to it than that, naturally—infinitely more, but it was a sore subject, and it couldn't be easy for Diane to look at Madeleine and see what _she'd_ wanted with him.

Diane watched Emily and Madeleine bask in the attention of the house's owners.

"You said you wouldn't _ever_ do it again," Diane muttered, remembering the many fights. "You said it wasn't worth it."

He remained quiet. He remembered thinking that; he remembered saying it. Hell, he remembered _fearing_ that even when Jenny had been pregnant. He had been wrong, though; he had been misguided and suffering and unwilling to let go of that suffering.

He didn't think Diane had the privilege of being privy to his and Jenny's _personal_ business, but he did feel that he owed her something—for putting her through the wringer all those years ago—so he said:

"Wasn't exactly planned."

"It's a trick I didn't use on you."

"She didn't do it on purpose, Diane," Gibbs said dangerously, turning an eye on her with warning.

Suggesting Jen had trapped him was absurd; her refusal to even really commit to him was tangible proof of that. She had left him, she had wanted to end things with him; it was ridiculous to even entertain the notion that she'd purposely gotten pregnant to _snag_ him.

Diane shrugged lightly. She didn't seem to want to think that it was an accident, and he had stepped up.

"If _I_ had gotten pregnant, would you have stayed?"

"_You_ left _me_."

"Would you have come home, Leroy?"

He sighed heavily, his hands fisted tensely in his pockets. Who was he to say what he would or wouldn't have done back then? The nineties were bad years for him—especially the years he was married to Diane. He had been reliable only in work, and he knew he hadn't been good to her. Still, he didn't think even at that low time in his life he'd have been scum enough to abandon her if she'd needed him like that—

He nodded curtly.

"Yeah," he said slowly, and then shrugged. "You still would have left," he said simply—and he thought it was true. He knew a child wouldn't have kept Diane in such a painful marriage; rumor had it she was on the brink of leaving Fornell with nothing, and she had Emily with him. No; if anything, a child would have prompted Diane to remove herself from what had been their poisonous relationship faster.

She laughed derisively.

"No, I wouldn't have," she said dryly.

He looked at her sideways. Maybe he'd been wrong in his assessment of her. Her brows furrowed and she glared across the yard at Fornell, still talking on his phone, shouting in hushed tones about work.

"Didn't you notice how long I stayed, Leroy? If I—if _we_–had a baby, I never would have left you," she shrugged mildly. "I never would have the first time, if I hadn't thought you were sleeping with—" Diane stopped talking.

She fell silent.

"I wasn't, Diane."

"I know," she hissed quietly. She lifted her hand and pointed at Madeleine. "But you _did_. She got everything. That's the rub," she shrugged again. "_I _didn't make you happy."

He fell silent for a long time, and they moved, to catch up with the kids at the next house right next door.

"Wasn't your fault," he said gruffly. "Never meant to hurt you."

"It doesn't matter now," she said, brushing off his comment. She turned and glanced at him, a look flickering in her eyes like she was almost irritated. "I forgive you a little when I look at Emily, and I think about what losing her would be like. It doesn't change much, but I forgive you," she hesitated, and pursed her lips frankly, lifting her eyes to his steadily. "You—"

She broke off, looking around them swiftly. She touched his wrist.

"You were _my_ Shannon, Leroy," she admitted hoarsely, as if begrudging him the truth. "I—think you deserve to hear that."

He stared at her, head tilted sideways. They were words he could easily understand—and he hadn't ever guessed, hadn't ever known that Diane had been that hurt by the end of their marriage. Several things should have clued him in—but he was too blind to see it then.

She bit her lip.

"I'm not trying to guilt you," she said dryly. "You need to think about it. You always shut me out, made me feel bad because I wasn't her," Diane explained. She shrugged and turned her head, nodding at Madeleine. "Don't—don't make her feel like that. You know I don't particularly care for Jenny Shepard but—don't make her feel like that, either."

He still stared, overwhelmed by what she was saying—and a moment later, Madeleine slammed into his knees, hugging him tightly.

"Emily wants to go through the haunty house at the end!" she exclaimed.

Yanked away from his ex-wife, Gibbs grasped his daughter's hands and looked down, brow furrowed.

"You're too little," he said abruptly.

"But Emily-!"

"Emily is much bigger," he said. "It will scare you," he added. "You don't like dark scary places, Madeleine," he said sternly.

She pouted at him a little, but he tousled her hair and crouched down.

"You finish the street with Emily and Pony," he said, "and then we'll let Emily and her mom and dad do the haunted house and save it for when you're seven, okay? If we go home a little early, you can have some candy before bed."

Her face brightened and she beamed at him, taking his hand and kissing it gallantly.

She put her hand on her hip and looked up at Diane, batting her eyelashes.

"Don't get scared in the haunty house, Mrs. Di!" she giggled, and darted off shouting for Tony.

Gibbs watched her like a hawk until she was in the light with Emily and DiNozzo, and then he turned to Diane, eyeing her intently for a moment. He looked over her shoulder at Tobias and smirked, setting his jaw.

"Diane," he said. "You gotta give him a break."

"Excuse me?" she asked, shocked, shaken. She whirled and looked at her errant husband, eyes narrowing. "For what? Because I'm a monster?" she asked a little defensively, giving him a sardonic look. "He works, he always works, and he doesn't care—"

Gibbs shook his head.

"For not bein' someone else," he said sagely, arching a brow at her. He let it sink in a moment, telling her essentially what she'd just told him, and he hesitated before going on. "People can tell when you look at them and see someone else," he said.

She closed her mouth, folding her arms across her chest again. She knew he was right—hadn't she always been able to tell when he was longing for Shannon, and hadn't it always sent her into fits of rage? Diane turned and looked at Tobias again. She smiled fondly, and sighed.

"I do like him," she said softly. "He makes me laugh—he loves Emily," she said, as if talking to herself.

Gibbs nodded curtly and shrugged.

"You make a decision," he said slowly, as if he was just figuring it out himself, "to move forward, be happy."

Diane narrowed her eyes.

"Is that what you did?" she asked seriously.

He looked at Madeleine, and shook his head honestly, well aware that he had needed a serious wake-up call to get his life together and stop drowning in the pain of losing Shannon and Kelly.

"No," he answered gruffly, and pointed at the little girl. "_She_ made that decision for me," he asserted.

Fornell came back, apologized, and put his arms around Diane's waist contritely; she turned away from Gibbs, a little sappy-eyed. He didn't notice her starstruck admiration of what he'd said; he was too busy watching Madeleine skip back towards him with DiNozzo in tow—she _was_ the reason his world wasn't so dark anymore, but it wasn't necessarily the simple fact of her existence that had helped him heal. It was the principle of doing this again, of being a father again.

Madeleine had shown him that life could go on; she had reminded him that this was worth it and shown him that all this time he suffered in the darkness of losing Shannon and Kelly, he could have been drawing strength from the happiness he had with them.

He could have chosen to be happy, and that's _always_ what Shannon would have wanted.

* * *

><p>"Daddy," Madeleine murmured sleepily, snuggled up in his lap on the living room floor. "I wanna call Ima."<p>

Her voice was slurred; even the three miniature Snickers bars he'd allowed her to munch on didn't have enough sugar to keep her awake after her first American Halloween. She yawned and poked at his chest feebly, but insistently.

"Make Ima's face appear _now_, Daddy," she mumbled.

He smiled, patting her ankle soothingly. She always referred to him in English when she wanted something; she used the Hebrew when she was talking to him conversationally. She interchanged the two languages frequently for Jenny, and she still sang to herself and talked to her dolls in Hebrew—or to strangers when they were scaring her.

"She's expecting us tomorrow night," he reminded her gently. "You're too sleepy."

"Excuse you," Madeleine retorted, glaring at him tiredly through eyelashes. He raised his eyebrows, pretending to be offended by the sass. She poked him again. "Excuse _you_, I want Ima _now_."

He checked his watch.

"It's three in the morning in Egypt," he said. "Mommy is asleep."

"No no _no_, Ima _never_ sleeps."

Gibbs laughed.

"You just think that because you wake her up when you need her," he said, shifting Madeleine in his arms and standing up.

He was going to clean up the candy pile when he was done tucking her into bed. He had helped her separate the treats into what she liked and what she didn't like, and he planned on taking the spares to DiNozzo as a silent reward for putting up with the abuse all night. He cringed at the thought of DiNozzo lording it over the others, but the agent deserved it.

Madeleine whined a little at being carried into her bedroom, and he smirked.

"Daddy," she whimpered, as he sat her on the bed and picked out pajamas for her. "Please?"

He sighed and touched her shoulder comfortingly.

"You will see her tomorrow, baby, I promise," he assured her.

Madeleine pouted, but she listlessly helped him put her pajamas on her and then collapsed into her bed, clearly too tired to throw a fit or fight him much. She snuggled in and peered at him edgily, her lips still puckered.

"Ima went candy walking?" she asked uncertainly.

"Hmmm," Gibbs pretended to think. "Bet she did," he said, going alone with it.

"Aba, how did Mommy dress up?"

Gibbs sat up next to Madeleine and kissed the crown of her head, taking the cue that he was supposed to tell a bedtime story about Jenny. Madeleine liked for him to tuck her in and put her to sleep by making up elaborate stories that primarily starred her mother as the heroine.

"Well," he began, stroking her hair soothingly, "Your mom decided to go as her true identity, Sleeping Beauty."

Madeleine giggled, looking up at him expectantly, and he went on:

"But an evil witch caught sight of her, and she pricked her finger on a Mummy's spool in Egypt, so Daddy had to go all the way across the country on a flying carpet to kiss her better…"

* * *

><p>Swearing silently at the sticky heat, Jenny sat in the corner of a well-hidden Cairo safe house. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and she rested her chin on them, one hand covering her mouth and eyes as if she were trying to simply curl up into a ball and disappear. She had lost her cellphone, her PDA, and her shoes—her feet were bleeding, flies were everywhere, and they couldn't leave this godforsaken hovel until they were given a signal by the anti-terrorism Egyptian forces they were working with.<p>

Something had gone wrong, and they had almost been compromised. She wasn't responsible in any logistical way, but because she was team leader, any misshap—preventable or not—was going to fall on her shoulders.

She sighed heavily, swearing again—that wasn't even what she was so stressed about.

One of the boys shuffled their feet, and she flinched, rubbing her wrist where her watch was.

She heard Holland say to Fitzgerald:

"You think she's losin' it?"

"Maybe a panic attack," Fitzgerald answered. "Or dehydration."

She looked up acutely and narrowed her eyes.

"I'm fine," she barked shortly.

She looked at her watch again, and the two men raised their eyebrows.

"Uh, you got somewhere to be, Boss?" Holland asked, almost amused.

She sighed and pushed her sweaty hair back, biting her lip and holding back a mean comment. She had been getting along so much better with both Holland and Fitzgerald since the talk they had all had on that surveillance stakeout. She might as well continue that vein of action by being honest now.

"I was supposed to call my daughter," she admitted, frustrated. "Six—over six _hours_ ago."

"Ah," Fitzgerald muttered. "Been there."

"She'll be fine," Holland soothed.

"I _promised_ her," hissed Jenny. "I've never broken a promise to her—"

"Well, you'll learn," Holland interrupted a little tensely. "You'll either learn to break promises, or you'll learn not to promise."

Fitzgerald shot a glare at their more abrasive teammate.

"What he means," Fitzgerald said seriously, turning back to Jenny, "is that it's better not to use that word. Then there aren't so many tears if something goes wrong."

Jenny leaned back heavily against the hot brick wall of the building. She blew hair out of her face, reluctant to be convinced.

"It was her first Halloween," she mumbled.

Holland cocked an eyebrow.

"I though she was three."

"She's four," Jenny corrected automatically. "She—she'd never been trick or treating before," she clarified. "She wanted to show me all of her candy," Jenny added, looking at her watch again anxiously.

It was going to be _ages_ before they were clear, and who knows what Jethro was coming up with in his worst case scenario mind to explain her being unreachable for a planned Skype date.

"Hey, Shepard," Holland said gruffly.

She looked at him, and he raised an eyebrow—looking friendly for once.

"This whole thing you're doing," he said, pointing to her and gesturing comically. "Where you're, you know, acting human," he explained, just a little teasingly. "It doesn't make you look weak."

She arched a brow, understandably surprised by his candor and—well—niceness. Holland openly didn't like her, after all. Even if he was less rude about it these days.

Fitzgerald laughed at the look on her face.

"He's right, Jenny," he agreed, shrugging. "We actually kind of like it."

She let out a breath and relaxed, her shoulders slumping—it did feel better, somewhat, to know they could relate to what was bothering her.

She sometimes forgot she wasn't the only parent in the world who was miles away from her child.

* * *

><p>When the laptop in front of him started flashing and making a musical little noise, Gibbs leaned forward and muted the television, answering the Skype call almost immediately. He leaned back and glanced down the hall for Madeleine while the picture came in to view, and was just about to call for her when he noticed Jenny looked completely panicked.<p>

"Jen?" he asked hesitantly, leaning forward.

She bit her lip and looked like she was about to cry.

"I'm sorry, Jethro!" she burst out immediately. "We had an emergency situation and we had to go on lockdown, and the whole time I was thinking about how I promised her I'd call and she'd be miserable and worried and hate me forever—"

"Jen," Gibbs said, eyes wide. He held up his hands and interrupted. "Calm down, she's fine, she didn't notice."

"She—didn't?"

"Well," he paused. "When she mentioned talking to you, I _may_ have gently reminded her that you said you'd be calling _today_," he amended gruffly.

Jenny looked outraged.

"You _lied_ to her?" she squawked indignantly.

Gibbs lifted his shoulders.

"She doesn't know any better," he placated. He shrugged. "This way she doesn't think you broke a promise."

Jenny looked pained and shook her head sharply.

"I don't want to lie to her! I don't want to be the parents who _lie_ to their children!"

"We're not lying to the _children_," Gibbs deadpanned. "We only have _one_. Jenny—look, we all start out swearing up and down we'll never lie to our kids, but it's naïve. We tell them the truth about the important things, and we just skate over things that won't hurt them. If I'd told her you forgot or somethin', she'd have thrown a fit and been heartbroken. I tell her you said you'd call the next day? She smiles and runs off, excited about it. There's no reason to let a preschooler think her mom broke a promise, and there's no way to make her understand that you didn't really break the promise, you got busy—you just can't tell that to a kid without hurting her feelings and making her feel like she isn't important enough."

He arched his brows at Jenny, as if asking her if that were explanation enough.

"Madeleine!" he called abruptly, while she was still processing it. "Mom's on the computer!"

He heard a crash and pounding footsteps as she darted out of her room and down the hall.

Jenny bit her lip, her eyes on Jethro intently.

"You're so much better at this than I am," she said, a little frustrated. "You think—you have better perspective."

He shrugged again.

"It's just experience," he explained gruffly. He was about to say something about having learned lot of lessons from Shannon, but Madeleine bounded into the room and catapulted herself into his lap, scrambling into a sitting position to see Jenny.

She was wearing a paper princess crown she'd made at pre-school, and she immediately pointed to it proudly, fluttering her eyelashes.

"Look, Ima, I am a lovely, _lovely_ Queen," she insisted primly, putting her hands on her hips and posing.

"Well," Jenny said with a laugh, crinkling her nose fondly. "Long live the queen."

Madeleine seemed satisfied with that answer and promptly removed her crown, placing it haphazardly on Gibbs' head and bursting into a stream of rapid Hebrew as if she were glad she could finally use it. Gibbs put his hands on her middle to hold her steady on his lap and leaned back, content to listen while they conversed. Jenny had always tried to direct Madeleine to speak English around him, but he'd decided recently that if Jen wanted to keep her fluent in two languages, she had better practice with her—and besides, Ducky had mentioned that a good way for mother and daughter to keep up a strong bond while far away was to share something only between the two of them.

So Gibbs remained silent and listened.

He heard the word _Ziva_ several times, but each time Jenny seemed to steer the conversation elsewhere. He let the chatter of the other language morph into background noise, vaguely impressed that Jenny was so fluent in it—she had also been maddeningly fluent in French, and he knew she spoke Spanish and Arabic fairly impressively.

His one triumph was that he all but annihilated her in a contest of who could speak Russian better.

Madeleine pinching his leg, and tilting her head at him, rudely drew him out of his relaxed reverie.

"Daddy, _you_ are in trouble," she informed him solemnly.

He narrowed his eyes.

"What did I do?" he asked.

"Madeleine," Jenny said sweetly. "Why don't you go get the Halloween candy to show me?"

She beamed and nodded excitedly.

"Kay!" she cried. "Abby gave me a pretty basket for it!" she exclaimed, and darted off—giving Gibbs' knees hell as she sprung away.

He leaned forward warily, glaring at Jenny.

"What'd I do?" he asked again, gesturing after Madeleine. "She's alive, isn't she?"

"You went trick-or-treating."

He stared at her, confused.

"Yeah," he agreed slowly, and then winced—because he realized Madeleine must have babbled something about—

"You went trick-or-treating with the Wicked Witch of Nineteen Ninety Seven."

"Little harsh, Jen."

"Harsh?" Jenny cried, outraged. "Need I remind you of the _horrid_ things you called her during that divorce?" she protested indignantly. "Things that—now that I think of it—should have made me fear your opinion of women."

He frowned and held up his hands sheepishly.

"What the hell, Jethro?" she asked bluntly, lifting her shoulders.

"It's not what you think—"

"I'm not pissed," she assured him quickly, shrugging. "I just don't—_Diane_, Jethro? _Really_?"

"Madeleine and Emily are friends," Gibbs admitted. "Fornell brought her around a lot when Emmy first moved here, to give her a buddy. They wanted to go together, wear matching costumes," he trailed off and then remembered suddenly— "DiNozzo was there, too."

Jenny arched an eyebrow and looked at him skeptically.

"Did you have fun?" she patronized.

"Emmy did," Gibbs answered dryly. "Diane gave me _parenting_ advice."

Jenny cackled.

"Serves you right," she snorted. "What did she say?"

"That I don't say no enough," Gibbs growled, and on cue, Madeleine pranced back into the room holding the black-and-orange decorative basket Abby had made her, complete with ribbons and adorable cotton ball ghosts and ghouls.

She set the basket on Gibbs' knees and huddled close to the screen.

"Madeleine," Jenny said smoothly, "does Aba tell you _no_ a lot?"

Madeleine crinkled her nose and giggled.

"No," she answered, throwing him under the bus innocently. "He sometimes do, and then I cry, and then he changes to yes."

Jenny gave Gibbs a wicked look, and he touched Madeleine's shoulder lightly, giving her a mild glare.

"You're gonna hear _no_ a lot more often now, _Princess_," he growled sarcastically.

She ignored him and began picking up pieces of candy and cutely explaining them to Jenny as if Jenny had never heard of or seen them before. Of course—many of them were new to Madeleine, as candy was different in Israel—but Jenny knew exactly what the difference between a Milky Way and a Snickers was, and still allowed the four-year-old to patiently regale her.

Gibbs rested his hand protectively on Madeleine's head and watched her interact with Jenny. He was thinking about Diane again, unwillingly—and due to Jenny—though it wasn't in any sort of romantic or nostalgic way. He just looked at Jen mildly over his daughter's shoulder and considered thoughtfully what Diane had said to him about the way he'd treated her, and the way he shouldn't treat Jenny.

Though Diane knew next to nothing about his dynamic with Jen—hadn't Jenny herself said that she couldn't marry him, couldn't commit to him _really_, because she knew he was still chasing after his Shannon?

He snorted.

Why were all of the women in his life _smarter_ than him?

* * *

><p>Hours after he'd tucked Madeleine in—hours even after he'd spent his time brooding and working on the boat—he tossed in a cold bed, unable to sleep. He didn't sleep on his couch anymore for many reasons, the most prominent being he knew Madeleine wouldn't think it normal and he wanted her life to be as normal as possible. The living room had also become much more lived-in since he brought her home with him, and much less conducive to a depressed Marine's sleep.<p>

Since the custody switch up, then, he'd been back in the old bed he shared with Shannon, and while sometimes that afforded him a better sleep than he could have dreamed of, other nights it kept him awake, restless and exhausted, struggling with his conscious. Tonight, it seemed, was one of those nights—and all because he was so nettled by Diane's assumption that he was going to let Jenny down or hurt Madeleine, and Jenny's vague, apparent belief in the same thing.

He hated the idea that Jenny might not wholly trust him to be there for her. He didn't think she really believed he'd ever let Madeleine down, but the relationship between himself and Madeleine was entirely different than the one between him and Jenny; he understood that, he was just unsure how to navigate it so that she'd feel secure in it. Jenny—and he wouldn't ever be able to find the words to tell her this—Jenny didn't understand that she'd done a number on him when she'd left him with no warning. She didn't realize that he had been on the brink of accepting that Shannon was gone and trying, really trying, to move forward—she had just judged him on past performance, taken a promotion, and hit the road.

Yes; now he knew the motives behind that combined with her lack of trust in him, but it had still shaken him up, and it still bothered him sometimes. She may feel like _he_ wasn't completely focused on being with her, but until she was back stateside, or secure in a stable job—until she stopped digging her nails into promotions and actively seeking advancement over a serious conversation concerning what she needed to give as a mother, he didn't know if he could leave himself vulnerable to _her_.

He stared blearily at the clock on his bedside table, listening to the silence in his house. Without thinking about it, he grabbed his cell phone off the bedside table and hit the first speed dial button—he didn't expect to get an answer, as she was usually busy in the middle of the day, but—

"Hello?" she sounded groggy and tired. "Jethro?"

He cleared his throat.

"Hey, Jen," he said hoarsely.

He heard some shifting and shuffling around, and his brow furrowed. He lay on his back and put a hand behind his head, looking at the ceiling. He pressed the phone closer to his mouth, lowering his voice.

"You okay?" he asked.

She mumbled something incoherently and then cleared her throat.

"Taking a nap," she murmured thickly. "Late night, slow day—isn't it three in the morning there?" she asked, perking up a little. "Is my baby okay?"

"She's fine," he soothed. "She's been asleep for hours, since about ten minutes after you read her that Egyptian fairytale."

Jenny giggled tiredly.

"It isn't a fairytale," she corrected gently. "It's the story of the God Osiris."

"Well, she liked it," Gibbs answered gruffly.

He fell silent, and Jenny sighed, shuffling around again. She knocked something over and swore.

"Where are you sleeping?" he asked curiously.

"Under my desk," she answered sheepishly.

He laughed.

"Like you used to," he remembered nostalgically. "Emmy naps behind mine," he told her.

"Take a picture of it," Jenny said lightly. "Like mother, like daughter."

"Yeah, she's a lot like you, Jen," he agreed quietly.

Jenny murmured without really saying anything and fell silent again, as if waiting uncertainly to find out why he'd called. He didn't say anything right away, either—he was still trying to figure out what he had _wanted_ to say when he picked up the phone.

"I miss you," Jenny mumbled, and it sounded like she was yawning. She smacked her lips and sighed heavily, as if she were annoyed or just plain fed up. "I want to visit; I just want to—push Madeleine on a swing set or sleep—next to you," she sighed again. "Listening to you tell me how you'd touch me if I was there isn't—it's not enough," she murmured, exasperated.

Her voice was low, quiet.

"You know I really miss…I really miss seeing Madeleine look at you," she added slowly, as if she were just figuring it out. "It just—_does_ something to me, Jethro."

"I know," he answered huskily.

He understood completely. It was the same thing he felt when he'd watched Jenny nurse Madeleine or rock her to sleep. It was primal; instinctive—family.

He cleared his throat, turning on his side and holding the phone close to his mouth again.

"Jen," he began, almost warily. "Jenny, I—" he paused, swearing at himself so silently—how could it possibly be this difficult? It was easy with Madeleine, perfectly easy to just tell her that he loved her but with Jen—even with Shannon, at first it was—nerve-wracking, terrifying—

"Jethro," she returned quietly.

He groaned, frustrated.

"I need you, Jenny, I—" he stopped again, and just gave in. "I want you."

She made a soft noise, as if she knew what he was trying to say.

"You'll get there, Jethro," she said mildly, accepting what he could offer right now—and then, because she was perceptive, and she knew what had to be bothering him, she added: "I'm not going anywhere. I can wait."

* * *

><p>It seemed like she hadn't slept in months, and when the ringing of a phone woke her up from a deep sleep, she could have easily thrown a fit that would have made Madeleine proud of she didn't pride herself on being a very coolly put together woman.<p>

Jenny groaned and rolled over groggily, grasping for her cell phone—and when she picked it up, she realized the hellacious ringing sound was coming from her apartment secure line, which meant it wasn't Jethro calling for another late-night heart-to-heart, it was work. If it was work, that might mean she had to get up—and that, she dreaded.

Swearing impressively, she picked up the phone.

"Shepard."

"Jenny."

Jenny sat up in bed, suddenly wide-awake. It had been so long since she'd heard the cool, throaty, almost feline voice of her Israeli former partner, and it was so unexpected she nearly fell out of bed.

"_Ziva_?"

"I am aware it has been a length of time since we last communicated," Ziva answered smoothly.

"Are you also aware it's ridiculously early in the morning?"

"You know as well as I do that our line of work does not, how do you Americans put it? Accelerate for sleep?"

"Break," Jenny corrected, relaxing against her headboard and yawning. She frowned at the clock and gave up on sleep—again, and she was so tired lately. "We don't break for sleep," she said, and sighed heavily. "To what do I owe this phone call?" she asked, slightly edgy.

The last time she had spoken to Ziva—_months_ ago—had resulted in an argument over sharing intelligence, and the young Mossad agent's refusal to divulge or cooperate had ended up getting Jenny and her team injured and their operation blown. She wasn't feeling very friendly towards Ziva—even though she knew it wasn't her fault; she was beholden to Mossad and she couldn't afford to betray her country.

"It is a delicate situation," Ziva answered calmly. "Before I get to the details, may I inquire after Madeleine?"

"She's fine," Jenny answered slowly. "She's doing very well in the States. She still speaks Hebrew well."

"And Agent Gibbs?"

"There's a slight possibility he's going insane," Jenny answered dryly, "in the best way possible, of course."

Ziva laughed quietly, and then seemed to dispense with all pleasantries and—as she put it, got to the details.

"My call is to request information with you."

"Ziva, you don't have to speak so formally."

"You know my colloquial English is not very pleasing to the ear," Ziva answered swiftly, plowing right on. "I would like to know if you have heard anything, whether it be whispers or legitimate Intel, about the whereabouts of Haswari."

Jenny's heart skipped a beat, and she swallowed. Had Mossad honestly—

"Have you lost him again, then?" she asked uncomfortably.

Mossad had an eerie habit of losing complete control of that operative in particular—not that Mossad kept a particularly tight leash on any of its officers.

"I would not say lost necessarily," Ziva returned, typical of the organization. "We simply have not heard from him recently."

"And was he supposed to have checked in?" Jenny asked sharply.

"Jenny," Ziva said, changing her tone. "I ask not as his control officer. I ask as his sister."

Jenny sighed—truth be told, she hadn't heard anything about Ari Haswari, but she was so disinclined to tell Ziva anything.

"Are you calling in that favor?" Jenny queried.

"No," Ziva answered slowly. "That favor I am cherishing until the last possible moment. I will not force your hand if you can tell me nothing."

"I can tell you nothing," Jenny said bluntly. "I haven't heard anything. Not even a whisper."

Ziva fell silent, and the silence was so _complete_ that Jenny was frightened for a moment. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came to her. She wondered what the issue was, what was so urgent.

"You are sure?" Ziva asked finally, sounding tired. "He—I should not speak of this. I trust you. He has—he has assignments in several terrorist cells that operate out of the Middle East. He has spent time in Egypt; he has also followed these trails to the United States and the Tri Border Area in South America."

Jenny shook her head alertly.

"I haven't heard a thing, Ziva," she said. "You and Haswari—_all_ of Mossad—you're very good at what you do. I doubt I would know unless you wanted me to."

"That is very true," Ziva agreed mildly.

She fell silent again, and this time, Jenny asked:

"Would you like me to place a call to CIA contacts?"

"No," Ziva answered emphatically. "There can be no record of this conversation. Haswari's work is highly classified, and if certain people were to know we have been, ah, lax in our handling of him—it would be very bad."

"Norway bad?"

"Mossad can never afford another Lillehammer," Ziva answered darkly.

Jenny nodded to herself.

"I apologize for being unable to help," she said.

"It is no fault of your own," Ziva answered simply. "Keep your eyes like bananas," she added—and she hung up, leaving the line dead, before Jenny could correct her idiomatic mistake.

She smiled, and said it anyway, into the humming phone.

"Peeled, Ziva," she muttered, and then hung the phone back up on her table and rubbed her eyes.

She pulled her knees up to her chest, eyes back on the clock—it would be about lunch time in the States, and it was a Monday, so Madeleine would be at NCIS with her father. Jenny entertained the brief idea of calling Jethro and telling him about this anyway because—just because, she had a bad feeling.

A bullet-wound to the thigh in Prague type of feeling.

* * *

><p>Madeleine and Evelyn were sitting next to each other working on their beginner math booklets when Madeleine pushed her pencil and notebook away and lay her head down for an impromptu nap. Her friend Evelyn poked her; interested, and then got up and pranced over to Miss Maddie to tell her that something was wrong.<p>

"What is it, Evie?" Miss Maddie asked brightly. "Having trouble with your addition?"

"No, ma'am," Evelyn said politely. "Seven plus seven equals fourteen, I memorized it!" she said proudly, and then grabbed Miss Maddie's hand and tugged on it, pointing to her little desk. "I think Little Maddie is in a coma," she said gravely.

Miss Maddy laughed to herself, ever amused by the explanations kids came up with for things. She allowed Evelyn to drag her to their desk and crouched down by Madeleine Gibbs, touching her hand and smiling at her gently. Madeleine wrinkled her nose at her.

"I am done with my math," she informed her seriously.

Miss Maddie checked the work and shook her head.

"You still have a whole worksheet to do!" she said kindly. "Do you need help? I can always help you a little if you're stuck. The bigger the numbers get, the less fun it gets—I know, I have to do _calculus_," she said, crinkling her own nose distastefully.

"No," Madeleine said stubbornly.

"Madeleine, you only have a little more time to recess. Hang in there," Miss Maddie said.

Madeleine buried her face in her arms, and Miss Maddie frowned—she was unused to Madeleine behaving like this. She was usually relatively obedient and a very good kid.

"What's wrong, Little Maddie?" she asked, taking a different approach.

"Sleepy," Madeleine answered. "Want Daddy."

Miss Maddie frowned even more.

"Madeleine," she began sternly. "You get sleepy when you don't eat enough, and your daddy said you refused to eat your cereal this morning. You also wouldn't eat your juice and crackers at snack time," Miss Maddie reminded her. "I think this might teach you a little lesson."

Madeleine kicked her feet unhappily.

"I'm not bad!" she insisted, lifting her head and looking at her teacher indignantly. "I'm not bad!" she repeated, her little brow furrowing insistently. "I didn't eat because, because," she rubbed her throat unhappily, scrunching up her face as if she would cry, "my neck _hurts_."

"Your neck?" Miss Maddie asked, confused.

She reached out to gently touch the child's neck, and noticed Madeleine was a little hot and clammy. She pursed her lips and raised her hand to her forehead, feeling for a fever. She bit her lower lip.

"Do you mean your throat hurts?" she prompted, concerned. "When you swallow, your throat hurts?" she asked.

Madeleine smacked Miss Maddie's hand away feebly and nodded unhappily.

"I'm done with math," she said again. "I want Daddy."

Miss Maddie nodded. She stood up, and then picked up Madeleine and made her way through the schoolroom for the adjoined office. She knocked on her supervisor's door and put her hand gently on Madeleine's sick head to comfort her.

* * *

><p>Tony picked up his cell phone without looking at it, flipped it open dramatically, and held it to his ear.<p>

"Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, how may I be of service today?"

"Am I speaking with Anthony DiNozzo?" asked a professional voice.

Tony rolled his eyes. Hadn't he literally just said that?

"Yes, ma'am, you are," he answered gallantly. "The one and only."

"You are the Anthony DiNozzo who is emergency contact for Madeleine Gibbs?"

Tony abandoned what he was doing.

"Yes," he answered automatically. "Is she okay?" he asked, panicked.

He looked across the bullpen—is that why Gibbs' phone had rung so many times a moment ago? Gibbs was in MTAC—was his cell phone not with him?

"This is Sarah Reed, Madeleine's supervisor at George Mason Child Development Center. She's okay, but she's ill and we need her to be picked up as soon as possible. We don't want any other children infected, and she's rather unhappy at the moment."

"Um, uh," DiNozzo stammered. "Did you call Gibbs? Uh, her father?"

"We did," answered Sarah Reed. "It seems his phone is out of service."

"Okay," DiNozzo said, standing up amidst the strange looks McGee and Kate were giving him. "Uh, do I bring anything?" he asked lamely.

"Photo identification," Ms. Reed answered.

"I'll be there soon," DiNozzo said, and snapped his phone shut.

He grabbed his keys and his bag, putting his NCIS cap on for good measure.

"What's up?" Kate asked, brow furrowed in worry.

"Maddie's sick," he answered. "Gotta go get her. Gibbs didn't answer his phone," he explained briefly, already half out of the bullpen. "Tell him where I am if he comes back!"

"Tony!" protested Kate uncertainly.

McGee stood.

"Hey, don't forget to get her car seat out of Gibbs car!" he shouted thoughtfully.

Tony waved at him to indicate he heard, disappearing into the elevator.

* * *

><p>DiNozzo found Madeleine's school center easily, though he must have arrived on the college campus right as a majority of classes were letting out—the place was crawling with university students who had no apparent regard for crosswalks or traffic light rules. After nearly killing six different co-eds, co-eds he was too distracted to even check out a little—he finally found a parking spot in the garage and made it to the child center.<p>

Kids were out on the playground, oblivious to the winter chill, screaming and laughing—no Madeleine among them. Tony went on inside and was waved over towards the office, where a stern-looking woman held out her hand emphatically.

"Identification," she said promptly.

He pulled his badge from his pocket and let her see both his federal credentials and his photo ID, establishing he was in fact the legal Anthony DiNozzo who was the only person allowed to pick up Madeleine if Gibbs couldn't. The woman nodded, and she handed DiNozzo a sheet filled with tiny slots, and tapped it with a pencil.

"Sign Madeleine's name, the time you checked her out, and the reason for removal," she requested firmly. "Legibly," she added sternly, as if she expected DiNozzo to have particularly lousy handwriting. She supervised Tony for a moment and then disappeared, and he heard her speaking in lower, muffled tones.

A few moments later, Tony was pushing away the clipboard with the piece of paper on it, and Madeleine was dragging her little feet as she carried her lunchbox and her light backpack around the partition. She stopped at his feet and looked up at him with woebegone eyes.

"Pony," she said sadly. "You are _not_ my daddy."

He smiled at her.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "Gibbs is waiting for us at NCIS," he told her—and it wasn't a lie; Gibbs was at NCIS, Tony just wasn't sure if he had been read in to what was going on yet.

Madeleine frowned, and then leaned forward and put her face on Tony's knee, hugging him lightly. She mumbled something unintelligible into his leg and he looked down at her cautiously, seriously unsure what to do. He had never picked up Madeleine from school before—it had never been an issue; he agreed to be listed as her emergency contact because he was proud Gibbs trusted him for it and he was glad to do it, but he was also only used to playing with Madeleine. Comfort and care was a different story entirely.

Hesitantly, he reached down and patted her head.

"It's okay, kid," he said. "I'm gonna take you to him."

She peered up at him and grasped his hand.

"Carry me, please," she said.

He leaned over and hoisted her up, balancing her on his hip easily. She weighed next to nothing at her age—at least, if he was only carrying her for a little while, and she immediately laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. He grabbed her backpack and her lunch box from her and gave a brief wave before he started out to the parking lot.

"You bring my little seat, Pony?" Madeleine asked tiredly.

He nodded, checking the road before he quickly walked across to the parking garage where his car was.

"I don't have any stuffed animals," he said apologetically. "But we can listen to some music."

"Okay."

He opened the back door of his car, smiling with pride at the car seat he had easily figured out and secured in his back seat—on the _first_ try. Madeleine was compliant enough to help him buckle her in and make sure she was safe.

"Tuck your fingers in," he said, making sure they were clear before he shut the door.

He jingled his keys and pulled out his cell phones—no missed calls from Gibbs. He must still be up in MTAC with the director. It didn't really explain why calls to Gibbs' cell weren't getting through, but Tony wasn't going to worry about that.

"So," he said, igniting the engine and beginning the drive out of the parking garage. "You don't feel good, huh?"

"Throat," she answered quietly. "Big Maddie says maybe it is stripped."

DiNozzo was silent while he tried to interpret.

"Strep," he muttered to himself, feeling no need to correct a sick child. He nodded, and glanced in the mirror at Madeleine. "And who is big Maddie?"

"My teacher," Madeleine answered. "She has same name as me," she explained. "She was Kelly's friend way back when," she added matter-of-factly.

"Who's Kelly?" DiNozzo asked, confused.

"Sissy," Madeleine answered vaguely. "Pony, I want Daddy," she said, whimpering a little.

"A little bit longer, Maddie, hang in there," DiNozzo soothed, distracted. "Sissy? You have a sister?"

"I don't know," she answered, a whine creeping into her voice. "Yes, _yes_, Kelly."

"Does she live with your mom?" Tony probed curiously.

"No, _Pony_, she died," Madeleine answered unhappily. "Stop, Pony, Aba will be sad," she snapped, and then kicked her feet petulantly and glared at him in the rearview mirror. She reached up and rubbed her eyes, her lips puckered pitifully. "Are we there yet?"

He shook his head, eyes on the road, momentarily unable to answer her. What was she talking about? She couldn't possibly mean Gibbs had another kid who had—but, isn't that what she had _just_ said? It seemed like an elaborate—morbid—thing for a child to make-up, and yet DiNozzo couldn't imagine Gibbs having a history like that and no one knowing a _thing_ about it.

"Pony?" Madeleine interrupted hesitantly.

He looked up, still distracted.

"Hmm?"

"I got sick in Israel," she said. She sounded very scared. "I had to go to a big scary hospital and I got a big scary cut in my tummy, like the Madeline in the movie," she explained.

Tony glanced back at her. Her eyes were big and watery and she looked like she was about to burst into tears. She pulled up her shirt and pointed to where the scar was. He couldn't see it without turning around and endangering her, but he nodded and pretended he had.

"You had your appendix out," he deduced. "Wow, that is scary. You're very brave."

"No!" she shouted. "I'm scared! I don't want to be sick!" she said, sounding panicked. "Don't want another big scary cut!" Madeleine did start crying now, soft hiccupping whimpers. "Pony I don't want to die!"

His eyes widened and he came to a stop at a light, turning around and looking at her seriously.

"Maddie—hey, hey, Maddie, shhh," he tried desperately to soothe her. "You aren't going to die. It's okay. Calm—calm down," he said, trying to keep an eye on the red light and on her.

Jesus, how did parents do this?

She kept crying, and he was forced to turn around and resume driving, glancing at her again and again in the mirror. They were close to NCIS—he didn't know what to do when there was a kid in his backseat sobbing. Did he pull over? Talk to her? Let her cry?—he _didn't know_.

In a moment of panic, he decided on a whim to do what his mother used to do for him when he was scared—he sang to Madeleine in Italian.

* * *

><p>Gibbs was a little more than frustrated and worried when he slammed his cell phone into his desk, shattering the battery cover and busting off some of the buttons. He chucked it over at McGee with an order for the geeky agent to reboot it; the damn thing wasn't getting reception anywhere, which was why he'd been unreachable when Madeleine's day care had evidently called for him to come get her.<p>

Kate had filled him in on DiNozzo leaving to do the job, and Gibbs was grateful his senior agent was so serious about his duty as emergency contact, but he was also pissed that the one time Madeleine had needed to be retrieved immediately, he hadn't been able to do it. It made him feel inadequate, like he was neglecting her in favor of his job—and that was something he swore he'd never do. Being an NCIS agent was different than being a Marine; he was totally capable of putting Madeleine first, and he intended to do that, especially since he was currently the sole parent available to her.

He picked up his desk phone and was about to call DiNozzo when the elevator went off and the agent walked in, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of Madeleine crying. Gibbs recognized it instantly as a tired, pitiful crying rather than tears of actual distress. She was probably just unhappy and feeling sick and crying or whimpering like that to ensure that she would get maximum attention from adults.

Gibbs put his phone back down and went to meet DiNozzo by the window.

"Hey Boss," he said gruffly. "Uh, I think she has strep throat," he muttered, handing her over when Gibbs held out his hands and silently demanded.

Gibbs effortlessly swung Madeleine into a cradle and looked down at her, raising his eyebrow at her. She stopped the crocodile tears at once and smiled at him with red eyes, happy that she had finally been given what DiNozzo had promised her.

"What hurts?" Gibbs asked.

She pointed to her throat.

"I want to go home."

Gibbs nodded and looked back at Tony.

"Why was she crying?" he asked, and DiNozzo blanched, unsure if he was about to get blamed for not handling it or if Gibbs really just wanted to know what was up.

"Uh," DiNozzo stammered. "She thinks she's going to die," he said grimly.

Gibbs looked surprised and glanced back down at Madeleine.

"You're not gonna die," he said skeptically, giving her a look. He wrinkled his nose and shifted her, holding her on his hip. He gave DiNozzo a curt nod. "Thanks," he said gruffly. "Her teachers give you any grief?"

"No," DiNozzo answered. "Just ID'd me."

"Good."

"Boss," Tony began hesitantly.

He scratched the back of his head anxiously, looking out the window, and then looked back at Gibbs awkwardly, trying to decide what to say. Gibbs looked at him impatiently, the usual no-nonsense glare on his face, and Tony figured it wasn't the best thing to ask about what Madeleine had said in the car—not here, not in front of everyone, not when the little girl was sick.

"Never mind," Tony muttered, and then reached out and ruffled Madeleine's hair gently. "Feel better, kid," he said sincerely.

Madeleine put her thumb in her mouth and her head on Gibbs' shoulder. He carried her over to his desk and sat down, tapping her thumb softly.

"Stop that," he ordered, dislodging her thumb from behind her teeth and holding her hand firmly.

Madeleine frowned at him and looked around at Kate. Kate waved at her, and Madeleine smiled again, waving back. She opened her mouth, and then changed her mind and leaned against Gibbs.

"Aba, I'm hungry," she said quietly.

"Did you eat your lunch?"

"No."

Gibbs looked up at DiNozzo, and DiNozzo smacked his forehead—he'd left her stuff in his car in his haste to take her to Gibbs so she'd stop crying. He got up, starting to go get it, but Madeleine spoke up again:

"Hurts to eat," she whined, and Gibbs gestured for Tony to sit down.

"Soup won't hurt," Gibbs said gruffly. "Let me finish up a few tiny things, Emmy, and then I'll take you home."

She nodded, still lying against his chest and shoulder limply. Gibbs began going through things on his computer, figuring out what he needed to get in order before he could go home for the day—and while he went about that, he picked up his phone and called autopsy to see what he should do about a doctor—meaning, would a look from Ducky suffice, or did he need to take her to a pediatrician?

* * *

><p>Ducky recommended a visit to an actual pediatrician. After a quick—awkward—call to Diane about where he should take Madeleine (during which he was subjected to a twenty minute lecture about how stupid it was that he didn't already have her set up with a doctor), and a bit of a fight with the recommended office to get Madeleine in, he was sitting in a room with her waiting for a nurse to come back with a strep test.<p>

Madeleine's one-hundred-and-one fever was nothing to sneeze at, and she seemed to be getting gradually more unhappy and whiny by the moment. She did not want to be in their doctor's office, and Gibbs was pretty sure she was going to balk when she found out just what a strep test entailed. He was going to have to hold her mouth open just like he'd had to do for Kelly.

"This is dumb," Madeleine informed him seriously.

"Madeleine," he warned.

"I want to leave _now_."

"Tough luck," retorted Gibbs, shrugging.

He raised an eyebrow at her, and she folded her arms unhappily, pouting at him. She curled up on the padded table she was sitting on and kicked her feet, slamming them onto the purple pillow top. He rolled his eyes a little and ignored her but to make sure she didn't wriggle off the damn thing onto the floor.

"Doctors _scare_ me, Aba!"

"Do not," he retorted, arching a brow. "You've hardly ever seen a doctor," he reminded her.

She nodded her head fiercely.

"In Israel," she said insistently. "In Israel I see lots of doctors, 'member? And they gave me the big scary cut and you came and Mommy was scared, and then you flew away," she retorted resentfully.

He stared at her dryly. He didn't really believe she had that good of a memory; he was sure she was just piecing together a memory from stories she had always been told during bath time about that scare—after all, she'd only been, what, two and a half, when that happened? Still, he knew he needed to be sensitive, so he stepped closer and crouched down, putting his nose very close to hers and scrunching up his face.

"I'm not going to fly away this time, Emmy," he said very seriously.

"If I get really, _really_ sick, will Ima come see me?" Madeleine asked in a soft, hopeful voice.

Gibbs gave her a sad look and pushed her hair back. He shook his head a little.

"Let's not think about that, honey," he said gently. "You don't want to see your mommy for the first time again when she's scared and upset, do you?"

Madeleine's lip shook, but she moved her head negatively—and at that moment, the nurse returned.

"Okay, Miss Madeleine," she said warmly. "Just a quick little test to see if you really have that nasty icky throat business, and then we'll get you off with your dad."

Madeleine sat forward, and the nurse held up the probe that she was about to stick into Madeleine's mouth to swab her throat—and Madeleine immediately blanched and scrambled away from her, throwing herself at Gibbs without care or concern for if he was ready to catch her. Luckily, he did—and managed to make it look effortless and planned, as well. He gave the nurse a wary look.

She waved her hand, and sighed.

"She isn't the first kid to do that," the nurse said frankly. "It isn't a fun test. I've seen teenagers fight their parents on it," she explained. She patted her hand on the pillow and smiled apologetically at Gibbs. "You'll have to—"

"Hold her down," he broke in gruffly. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered, reluctant to do it but steeling himself all the same.

Swiftly, he sat Madeleine down on the edge of the table and stepped up impossibly close to her, holding her hands on her knees with one hand—firmly, but not too tight—and taking her jaw in his other hand.

"Madeleine," he said calmly. "Open your mouth."

She clamped her teeth together and tried to yank her head out of his grip.

"Madeleine Jane," he warned.

She stopped wriggling, but she did not open her mouth. He winced, and lightly pinched her jaw a little, forcing her to part her lips and give the nurse access. She let out an impressive shriek of rage—which the unfazed nurse duly ignored as she quickly inserted the swab into Madeleine's mouth, pressed it against her throat for a fast second, and yanked it back out. Madeleine gagged, started coughing, and, the moment Gibbs let go of her, burst into an anguished mix of Hebrew and tears.

The nurse just gave her a run-of-the-mill apologetic look and put the swab into a tube. She gave Gibbs an estimation of how long the results would take before she left the room.

Madeleine continued to wail, and he couldn't understand a damn _thing_ she was yelling. He frowned and rubbed his jaw; unhappy that he'd had to hold her down, aware it was necessary, and annoyed by the screaming. He wasn't going to yell at her; he knew the procedure had been uncomfortable—instead, he waited a moment for her to realize he wasn't doing anything and when she took the sobbing down a few volume notches, he leaned on the table next to her.

"Madeleine," he said gently. "Emmy," he soothed. "Your throat is going to hurt if you keep screaming like that," he told her honestly.

"You're mean!" she shouted in English. "I don't want _you_. I WANT MY MOTHER."

He nodded.

"I know," he agreed, putting is hand on her knee and patting gently. "I know you want Mommy. Emmy, can you be mad at Daddy in silence?" he asked, putting his finger to his lips. "If you pout instead of screaming, your throat won't hurt."

The four-year-old glared at him, teary-eyed, obviously conflicted. She didn't like the pain anymore than anyone liked pain, but she was also well aware that screaming tantrums infuriated adults—it annoyed them. Other children could blissfully ignore a screaming tantrum, but it really set off the grown ups.

She fell quiet for a moment, and then she dissolved into the quiet, pitiful sniveling she'd been doing when DiNozzo brought her in to NCIS.

Gibbs smiled warily and pressed a kiss to her forehead—a kiss she did not welcome, and kicked at him for it. He just admonished her quietly for the violence and kept his hand on her knee, content to let her hate him a little bit for the throat swab.

She was going to hate him even more in a few minutes when that test came back positive and he had to hold her down for a shot.

* * *

><p>By the time she was tucked in and finally asleep, Gibbs was completely convinced Madeleine was never going to forgive him for what he was beginning to refer to as "The Shot Incident."<p>

Madeleine was ten times worse than Kelly had been when it came to medical procedures, and he had no idea how she had come to be that way—she was rarely sick. Aside from that one horrible incident with her appendix, Madeleine was rarely in a doctor's office; Gibbs couldn't figure out why the hell she was such a nightmare when it came to all of this.

After the huge deal she'd made over getting her throat swabbed, he had decided he didn't want to deal with forcing antibiotics down her throat every day for the next week or so—especially when she felt completely better and fought him even harder on it. He'd told the doctor she'd take the shot, and from that single word onward she had acted in the most infuriating manner. She had refused to speak English, cried until she was nearly sick, _bitten_ him when he held her for the shot—she had even refused to eat when they got home, until he simply sat down next to her in front of the television and calmly ate his own supper. _Then_ she had sulkily—and only _half_ in English—asked for dinner.

He was tired and pissed off and trying to remember how Shannon had dealt so well with all of this when Kelly was little—but Kelly had been younger when—if!— she had ever acted like this, and he could really only remember _once_, in a shopping mall—and Shannon had _spanked_ her, in front of everyone, and Kelly had never misbehaved that badly again. Gibbs wasn't going to spank Madeleine; it was like he'd told Jenny when they had discussed the issue: he didn't object to that kind of punishment, but he was too strong to do it and he refused to. Not to mention Madeleine was sick, and he had to take that into consideration. Four years old wasn't exactly an age where she should be acting like a total brat, but he could cut her a little slack for the sudden transformation into some sort of demon spawn.

He wasn't really sure Jenny would believe him when he relayed all this—but he didn't currently worry about that.

He was taking the silent down time to work on the boat. Sometimes, he missed working on the boat for hours and hours on end—he didn't miss the emptiness and the sorrow that had driven him to do so in the first place, but he missed the woodwork. It had always been his way to blow off steam, to think through cases or decisions, or bond with Kelly—a long, long time ago.

He hated to admit it, but he worked on the old boat less and less these days. When he wasn't at work, he was keeping up with Madeleine, and he found himself to be actually tired when it was time for bed. Rather than spending hours and hours on the boat, he was down there making sure there were no dangerous items from the last time he worked on it, or looking for some toy Madeleine had left. She was too young to spend time with him in the basement constantly; he didn't want her to hurt herself or get into his tools. He had to be constantly available to her—because he was the only parent available to her—and that didn't at all _bother_ him.

But it was _odd_. It was eye opening. It was stressful, and it was vastly different from his last experience with parenthood. This time around, he felt the grudging need to kneel at the feet of Shannon, and women like Shannon, and let them take a few swings at him or something, knock some sense into him. He hadn't realized how difficult it must have been for Shannon to spend so much time raising Kelly _alone_. He hadn't really processed it—he'd considered it, when he watched Madeleine as a baby in Israel, but that was only for two weeks. Now it was _all_ him, all the time.

And it was hard.

He hadn't listened when Jenny snapped at him that he only knew how to be a father in the eighties; he'd just bristled at the painful suggestion—but he _should_ have listened. She was right—and she knew this, she had been doing it alone, too. He wasn't so humbled before Jenny as he was before the specter of Shannon; because in many ways Jenny's aloneness had been solely her own choice, against his wishes. But he respected her choice, now that he understood her reasoning better—and he still respected that she had been so alone in Madeleine's life for so long.

From all of this, he drew the conclusion that he wanted—what they needed—was the stable family, the two parents, one household, one united front. It wasn't necessarily what everyone needed, but it was what he needed, what he really wanted.

He hadn't been able to really vocalize that to Jenny, even in all their fights about what was best for Madeleine—but now he knew, and understanding that was the first step to being able to express it.

* * *

><p>"Noemi," Gibbs said gruffly, touching her shoulder gently.<p>

She turned around from the pot of soup she was stirring and looked at him with crinkly, gently eyes, raising her eyebrows.

"She loves the bunny slippers," he said. "They really did the trick."

"Oh, I so glad to hear this!" Noemi responded, putting her hands together.

"You make 'em yourself?" Gibbs asked.

"Si, si, senor, just a hobby, you see," she explained.

"Damn talented," he complimented, giving her a nod.

He went to the cabinet in Jenny's kitchen he had deemed the "Emmy Cabinet" and pulled out a bowl with cartoon characters on it.

"Soup almost ready?"

"Almost, Senor," Noemi said brightly. "She will _love_," she added. "Her Mama, Senora Jenny, she always request my soup when she sick."

"Yeah?" Gibbs asked. "Jen a good patient?" he asked, thinking over the last two days with Madeleine.

"Ah," Noemi hesitated. "She not get sick much as an adult," she decided. "As a little girl, she no good, she whine very much."

Gibbs snorted. So that _was_ where Madeleine got it.

At any rate, he was glad the adorable bunny slippers Noemi had crafted had utterly cheered Madeleine up. She was barred from day care for three days just for safety's sake, and Gibbs had taken half-days at work yesterday and today so he could be there. She was unhappy and unruly most of the time, though the first day she had been calm about it because she was sicker and didn't want to make noise. He had Noemi helping him, and he'd been spending the night at Jenny's house to make it easier—Jen lived closer to NCIS, anyway.

"She is all comfortable now, Senor?"

"What?" Gibbs asked absently, rummaging around in the fridge. "Oh. Yeah, I got her tucked in up in Jen's room with DiNozzo's little DVD machine thingy. She's watchin' Mulan."

Noemi nodded contently. She hadn't experienced too much of Madeleine's monstrous sick behavior, because the little girl became a complete _angel_ in the presence of Noemi.

Gibbs poured a cup of grape juice for Madeleine and put a non-spill lid on top of it. He just took a mug of coffee for himself, and moseyed up to Noemi, handing her the bowl for soup. She offered him some, but he turned it down—he'd eat later, after Madeleine was full, and he read her a story and tucked her into her own bed. Last night, she'd been able to sweet-talk him into letting her sleep in Jenny's bed with him, but he was putting his foot down tonight.

"You want me to stay with her again tomorrow, Senor?"

"Noemi, Gibbs is fine," he said, for what seemed like the hundredth time. No matter how many times he told her to drop the formalities, it was always _Senor_. He shook his head, blowing on the soup a little. He was taking Madeleine to work with him tomorrow; yesterday before he had left, they had taken down a terrorist, and tomorrow it would be all paperwork and figuring out how to close up the loose ends. "Nah, gotta go back to work. She's comin' with me, since her fever's been gone all day and her throat's better. It cheers her up to be there."

Noemi nodded blithely, and Gibbs tasted the soup. He gave her an approving nod and a thumb up, then put everything on a tray and took it up to Madeleine in Jenny's room. It went without saying that he wished he was opening the door to actually seeing Jenny in that room, but when all he saw was his daughter curled up amongst the sheets, comforter, and pillows, hugging tightly to a stuffed duck, he figured he had a pretty sweet deal all the same.

* * *

><p>Madeleine was much more amiable to everything the next morning; her fever remained gone, she had slept well all through the night, and her throat was barely hurting any longer. So it went with this common childhood ailment; the pain of the illness often went away before the contagion did, and the last day out of school was a fun one.<p>

Particularly for Madeleine, who seemed to think a Thursday at NCIS would be infinitely different and somehow _more_ fun than a Monday.

"Aba," she said again, busy chattering away to him in the back seat. "What if I like Thursday more than Monday? Can we switch?"

"Emmy, I'm tellin' you, it's gonna be the same."

"Nuh-uh. Maybe Pony will wear a new shirt."

"Tony wears a different shirt every time you see him."

"Hmmmpf," Madeleine grumbled, though clearly not upset. "Pony rescued me from school," she informed him. "When I was sick."

"I know. You'll have to thank him."

"Can I give him a hug?"

"Yes."

"Can I give him a kiss?"

"On the cheek."

"I want to kiss his mouth like you kiss Ima," Madeleine announced blithely.

Gibbs nearly wrecked the car.

"_No_," he growled.

He shot her a stern look in the rearview mirror.

"Daddy _why_?" Madeleine whined.

She pouted at him sweetly.

"Because," Gibbs answered vaguely, totally unhelpful. "Because—" he started again, looking for an explanation. "Because kissing on the mouth is what people in love do," he decided on, wincing a little bit at the awkward answer.

"Well I love Pony. He is my little Pony."

"Madeleine," growled Gibbs, pulling into the NCIS parking garage.

He turned off the car and glanced around at her, pivoting in his seat.

"You don't _love_ Tony in a _kissing_ way," he told her, still awkward.

"You don't know anything, Daddy."

"You don't, because Tony is—he's your uncle," Gibbs decided. "You don't _love_ family like that."

Madeleine looked at him intently. While she was preoccupied—probably confused—Gibbs got out of the car, grabbed his things, and opened the back seat door, swinging Madeleine's bag onto his shoulder and reaching in to help her unbuckle. She kept staring at him silently, and then she sighed heavily and cocked an eyebrow at him.

He almost laughed, because she looked so much like Jenny when she did that.

"I shall not kiss Pony," she conceded loftily.

"Good," Gibbs muttered, helping her out of the car and taking her hand.

He made sure she was out of the way, shut the door, locked it, and led her towards the elevator.

Madeleine hopped in the elevator and obediently pressed the button that would take them to the squad room, swinging Gibbs arm back and forth happily and bouncing on her feet a little.

"Aba," she said brightly, tilting her head up and smiling at him curiously.

"Yes?" he drawled.

"I like it when you kiss Ima."

He looked down at her and grinned.

"Me too."

* * *

><p>Autopsy's doors swooshed open and Ducky strolled in, followed by a tired Gerald. Finding his way easily in the dark, Ducky flipped on a light and allowed the fluorescents to flicker on slowly around the room.<p>

"He's not an _American_ naval officer?" Ducky asked Gerald curiously

"They said he was a Royal Navy commander," Gerald answered.

"Yes, well, which Royal Navy, Gerald? There are several of them."

Gerald seemed to sigh.

"I assumed British, Doc," he answered.

"Ah, the Swedes, the Norwegians, Aussies, Kiwis, Saudis—they all have Royal Navies!" Ducky listed brightly, eager to share his knowledge.

"Well, the embassy only said to bring him to NCIS for autopsy," Gerald informed him solemnly.

"Which Embassy?" Ducky asked, going through the pockets of his coat absently.

"Israeli," Gerald answered.

"Israeli?" Ducky repeated. Well—Israeli? That was quite odd—wasn't it?

"That's what they said," Gerald said lightly, pulling on his latex gloves.

"Hmm," Ducky mused. "Why on earth would the Israeli Embassy send us a foreign naval officer?"

"That's what I asked the EMTs that delivered the body, but they didn't know either," Gerald explained unhelpfully.

The assistant opened the door to receiving and retrieved the mysterious body on a gurney, pulling it into lighted autopsy.

"Calls me down here at the crack of dawn and doesn't know which navy," murmured Ducky, searching over his desk. He picked up a rather large latex glove from his drawer and frowned, holding it up. "Gerald," he asked sharply. "What does this look like?"

Gerald looked up from the gurney and managed to look guilty.

"Uh, one of my gloves."

"What's it doing in my drawer?"

"I'm sorry, Doctor," Gerald said promptly. "I must've put your gloves in my drawer. I'll get it."

"No, no, I'll do it," Ducky placated. If you wanted something done, best do it yourself, eh? He went about getting the right gloves and gestured towards his assistant. "Unzip that body bag and find out with which navy our guest sailed," he instructed.

Ducky walked about autopsy, listening to Gerald open the body bag, and looked for the correct size in gloves. Gerald remained silent, though the unzipping stopped, and Ducky chuckled to himself—he should have known the uniform would confuse Gerald. Royal Navy attire could be tricky, after all.

Ducky popped on his gloves, curious to see what it was about this body. He had Qassam's body to get to for Gibbs today, and he did want to spend a few minutes with young Madeleine while he could, so he hoped this whole mess could be sorted quickly.

"Don't recognize the uniform?" he asked Gerald blithely, putting on his other glove. "I'm not surprised. The royal navies of the world wear almost identical uniforms—in fact," he went on happily, "during World War II British naval officers whose ships went down in the channel passed themselves off in Antwerp as German sub-mariners who—"

Duck broke off. He had reached Gerald's side—and he had seen what had stumped the medical assistant. His heart leapt against his chest and his mouth went dry as he stared down at the body lying on the slab in front of them—the body that was not at all dead, but very much alive, with cold eyes, a hard, swarthy face, and a gun, pointed right at both himself and his assistant.

Ducky swallowed hard.

"Good God."

* * *

><p>Kate stepped out of the elevator, barely able to hold back her laughter as she was regaled about stories of Tony's weird mother and the fetishes she'd inflicted on him. In her hand, she held the evidence locker files concerning the case they'd just closed on the terrorist Yassar Qassam.<p>

"Canopy beds, flickering candles? No wonder your bête noir was a vampire," she teased, pursing her lips mockingly.

"Ohhh, bête noir, _cute_," Tony sneered, looking sheepish.

"Goes with the Louis the Fifteenth bedroom. So, what would happen?" Kate probed, eager to know how the scary vampire had traumatized poor five-year-old Tony.

"Forget it," Tony pouted.

"Forget what?" Gibbs growled from his desk, showing a weird amount of interest in their just arrived-at-work banter.

"Oh, Tony's bête noir," Kate said loftily.

Tony snorted rudely.

"Ah," he said, turning to Gibbs in a patronizing way. "It's, a French, for, um—"

"Nightmare," Gibbs supplied, busy on his computer.

He felt DiNozzo staring at him in shock.

"I do crossword puzzles, too, DiNozzo," he said dryly.

He, of course, knew the word because he knew enough of the language—from his Paris days—to understand the name behind the thing that had plagued both he and Jenny for nights on end when they were buried in those undercover ops.

"_Bete noir,"_ Jenny had mumbled one night, clinging to him with her head buried in his shoulder, _"bête noir, it sounds so pretty, so nice,"_ she'd whimpered angrily.

"Actually," DiNozzo began, waltzing around his desk. "My mother taught me nightmare in French when—"

"Your father teach you how to report?" Gibbs interrupted.

"Oh, yeah," DiNozzo said, launching into a convoluted explanation that had absolutely nothing to do with their case.

Gibbs looked up and glared at him—until DiNozzo broke off and immediately switched to case-talk.

"We bagged and tagged everything in Qassam's room. Wasn't much there: Qur'an, prayer rug, fast-food wrappers. This guy took food home from work and didn't even empty his trash. He had sinus problems, bad breath—"

"That's because he didn't brush his teeth," Kate piped up. "There was no toothbrush or toothpaste in the apartment," she said, looking around curiously.

"Just aspirin, sinus spray, and breath freshener," DiNozzo finished.

"You swab for explosives?" Gibbs demanded.

"Yeah, top to bottom, found minute traces of nitrate in the dresser table, probably where he kept his Beretta," DiNozzo answered promptly.

"Computer?"

"Not even a Gameboy, Boss," DiNozzo said. "Hey," he said suddenly, looking around the same as Kate. "Where's Maddie? Isn't she with you today?"

Gibbs nodded abruptly.

"Abby took her for breakfast," he said, moving on with the case issues.

"Tony," Kate said, giving him an annoyed look. "Of course he didn't have a Gameboy, he didn't have a television."

"Gameboys are handheld, Kate. You're thinking of PlayStations, X-boxes—"

Gibbs stood up roughly.

"Well, I'm thinkin' of kickin' some ass," he said gruffly, prowling over to the evidence board. "Gitmo Intel said Qassam was gonna execute a terrorist attack on the naval base at Norfolk. He is in no shape to tell us how or when."

That was Gibbs' fault. They had gone to Qassam's place of work the other day, intent on checking his car in a routine manner, finding some evidence. Unfortunately, that had gone wrong, and Qassam had realized it was anything but a routine check. He had pulled his weapon on the guard, and Gibbs had double tapped his chest from his secluded post. They had no perp to interrogate; they had to go on police work to figure out what Qassam had been intent on doing.

"His computer might," Gibbs muttered.

"No computer," Kate said unhelpfully.

Gibbs turned around.

"What about the food court, where he worked?" he asked.

Tony shook his head negatively. He explained why there was no way Qassam could use the computers there, and Gibbs set his jaw, annoyed.

"Hey!" Kate broke in, lighting up. "He could have used an Internet café. I'll check Little Creek in his neighborhood," she said, hopping to her computer with purpose.

Gibbs tightened his jaw, moving his head in a little more annoyance. He was satisfied with Kate's ingenuity, but—

"I shoulda thought of that," he muttered.

"Well, you're more smurf than alpha-Geek," DiNozzo said, as if trying to comfort him. He looked at Gibbs' face and backtracked: "So am I, according to McGee," he said quickly.

Gibbs glanced at McGee's empty desk. The Director had sent him out to Norfolk for the past few days, taking care of a cyber crime issue. Gibbs hated sharing the bright young agent, but it was an order from Morrow he couldn't fight.

"You're right, DiNozzo," he admitted grumpily.

"I am?"

"Hell, I mean I'm still usin' a notepad and pencil instead of a PDQ," he growled, looking around his desk with contempt.

He had that damn Skype thing at home now, and wireless Internet, but that wasn't because _he_ was good at keeping up with the fancy, changing technology. It was because Abby and McGee had set it up as a gift for Madeleine, and because he _needed_ that for his daughter to be able to see her mother. He still liked the mentality it took to work through his handwritten notes, but he had to admit, these advances…they were going to leave him behind someday if he didn't step up his game.

"It's a PDA," snickered DiNozzo. "Uh, you can call it a Palm Pilot—"

"It doesn't matter what I call it if I can't use it!" Gibbs barked.

"I'll teach you," DiNozzo offered.

Gibbs squinted at him.

"You'll teach me?" he asked skeptically. He stood up in disbelief. "McGee teaches you, you teach me? It's backwards!" he snapped, irrationally annoyed by the situation.

It was like—Madeleine teaching him to read, or—what had Jenny said once?—Madeleine teaching Ziva English. The chain of command wasn't supposed to have the most modernized, savvy person at the bottom of it.

Gibbs stormed out from around his desk.

"I need coffee," he growled, marching off towards the elevator.

"What was that all about?" he heard Kate ask cautiously.

He didn't hear DiNozzo's response, but he was damn sure he'd just figured out what his own bête noir was—someone he'd trained in charge of him.

* * *

><p>Madeleine happily scampered into Abby's lab a few steps ahead of the Goth, darting right into the office before Abby could even get a hand free to turn the lights on. When she did manage to get them on, she found Madeleine sitting patiently but excitedly in her desk chair, up on her knees.<p>

"Play some music, Abby!" Madeleine requested, smiling brightly.

Abby beamed and set her box of donuts down on the desk, leaning over to wake up her computer. She pulled up her media player and selected one of her favorite bands, putting the volume at a decent, non-harmful level. Gibbs hated the heavy metal screaming she listened to, and he growled and bitched about Madeleine listening to it, but as long as Abby kept it at a low level, and the lyrics were clean—or at least unintelligible to the little girl—he grudgingly allowed it to happen.

Madeleine only wanted to listen to it around Abby, anyway.

She had barely turned on the music and swung Madeleine up into her arms playfully when the phone rang, lighting up with a call from autopsy. Abby grinned at Madeleine and sank down into the chair, sitting the kid on her lap as she hit the speaker button.

"Ducky!" she greeted pleasantly.

"Ducky!" Madeleine parroted cutely.

"You're starting early," Abby remarked.

"Abby turn down the babble," Ducky snapped, without even greeting her.

Abby made a mock outraged face at Madeleine, and Madeleine pretended to gasp.

"Babble! Ducky, you love Android Lust!" she protested, hugging Madeleine and poking her stomach gently.

Madeleine giggled.

"Not distorted through a speaker phone," Ducky yelled tensely.

"Oh, you're such a purist," Abby sighed, giving Madeleine an apologetic look and winding down the music until it was almost unintelligible. She leaned over and picked up the phone, taking it off speaker and cradling it between her shoulder and her ear. "What's up?" she asked.

She reached over and popped open the box of donuts.

"Pick one, sweetheart," she said quietly, and listened to what Ducky was saying—he was asking for the evidence he'd just given her last night? The evidence from Qassam's body? She made a face and shook her head to herself.

"Oh," she said, disheartened, "Good luck," she took a sprinkled donut Madeleine was offering her and swished her pigtails. "I haven't even had my sprinkles yet!"

"I didn't ask for the results," Ducky said quickly. "I need it all back. Including the blood."

Abby paused, confused. She held the donut away and Madeleine pushed her hand back, looking a little sad that she wasn't eating it. Abby shushed at Madeleine absently and listened harder to Ducky.

"What are you gonna do with the blood?" she asked, baffled.

She leaned over and took a drink of her _Caf-pow!_ and Madeleine squirmed in her lap.

"I want to talk to Ducky," she said.

"We'll see him later, Mini Gibbs," Abby soothed.

"Abby! Just get it down here!"

Abby bristled.

"Whoa," she admonished, hurt. "Did you wake up on the wrong side of the autopsy table?"

"Sorry, ah," he answered tensely. "I have a theory to test."

"Want to share?"

"Not quite yet."

"Okay," Abby said, calmed immediately. "Send Gerald up."

"He's busy," Ducky said.

Abby was busy helping Madeleine hold a napkin under her donut, so for a moment, Ducky's next words didn't register—and then they did, and she blanched, straightened up like a board and holding the phone tightly to her ear.

"Ducky. You know I can't do that," she said seriously, as autopsy her nightmare flashed through her eyes.

"Abby, I don't have time to deal with your necrophobia."

"I'm not necrophobic. Dead bodies don't freak me out; autopsy does."

Madeleine looked at her sweetly.

"I shall protect you," she said softly.

"Ducky, please don't make me do this," Abby said.

"You won't have to enter autopsy," Ducky said. "Ah—in fact, don't," he said, brightening a little. "If it eases your phobia, just leave the box outside the autopsy doors. I'll lock them."

"I can't even press the down button on the elevator anymore!"

"Get Gibbs to do it! Stat! " Ducky shouted.

And then he hung up, and Abby stared at the phone, swallowing hard. She looked at her _Caf_-_pow_! sadly, and at her uneaten donut, and made a face—she _really_ didn't want to go down to autopsy.

"Abby," Madeleine said seriously, touching the scientist's shoulder confidently. "I shall press the button for you."

Abby smiled at her half-heartedly.

"You're too little to carry the evidence bucket," she said forlornly. She sighed heavily and ruffled Madeleine's hair. "C'mon," she said, steeling herself. "Let's go find your daddy."

* * *

><p>The terrorist looked at Ducky like a feline would look at its prey.<p>

"Who is Gibbs?" he asked

There was something in the way he spoke that frightened Ducky twice over—he asked after Gibbs as if he knew who he was. If he was intelligent, maybe he could easily deduce that Gibbs was their head agent—but there was something more sinister to it.

"Gibbs," Ducky began carefully, "is the only other person Abby has told about her phobia. He's also the one person she'd turn to for help."

"Is _he_ a special agent?" asked the lion-eyed terrorist—and again, Ducky felt this man was playing with him, like he knew the answer before it was given.

"Yes," Ducky said quickly. "But does that matter? Look all I'm trying to do is give you the evidence you need so you can do what you came here to do and _leave_!"

The terrorist looked at him steadily.

He smiled.

* * *

><p>Kate was absorbed in researching Internet cafes for the case when Madeleine came prancing around her desk and stood next to her.<p>

"Hi there," she greeted, turning and taking a break. "Feeling better?"

The little girl nodded.

"Abby needs help!" she said seriously, just as Abby wobbled around the corner on her platforms carrying a heavy box of evidence.

"Where's Gibbs?" the distracted Goth asked, looking around in an antsy manner.

"With the Director," Kate answered. "You okay?"

Abby frowned unhappily; she bit her lip.

"Where's Tony?" she asked tensely.

"The head," Kate answered slowly. "What's wrong, Abby?" she asked, not used to seeing the other woman so frazzled.

Abby put the evidence box on Kate's desk, and Madeleine went up on tiptoes, using Kate's legs for balance.

"Ducky needs all this evidence back in autopsy."

"Before you've tested it?"

"Ducky is a silly," Madeleine piped up.

"Sounds like it, Agent Maddie," Kate said in a friendly manner. She looked up at Abby, and said: "That's strange."

"Yeah," Abby agreed. She knelt down and leaned closer. "I can't go down to autopsy."

"Why not?" Kate asked skeptically.

A Goth, a forensic scientist Goth, refusing to go down to autopsy? It didn't make any sense.

"I had this dream, like a month ago, and since then autopsy scares the hell out of me."

Kate couldn't help it; she turned her head away a little and she laughed, crinkling her nose in bemusement at Madeleine. Madeleine giggled back, happy to be included.

"Brave Abby is scared," she said, crinkling her own nose.

"Why are you laughing?" demanded Abby.

"Sorry," Kate said, "I was just—thinking of Tony."

She saw the look of confusion on Abby's face and went on to explain the conversation she'd had with DiNozzo this morning about his vampire bête noir—and Abby scoffed at the idea, professing her obvious love for vampires; naturally, at that, Kate had to point out how inane it was for Abby of all women to be afraid of autopsy.

"It doesn't change anything, Kate!" Abby said, sighing. "I can't even take the elevator to the basement anymore!"

"_Wow_."

"_Yeah_."

"So," Kate began matter-of-factly. "You want me to take this evidence down to Ducky?"

"Would you?"

"Of course."

Abby looked up at her with thankful eyes and sighed a sigh of relief.

"Okay," she said, standing up and grabbing the clipboard. "You have to sign to maintain the chain of evidence. And Ducky's locked the doors, so just set the box down outside."

"He's locked the doors? Is the autopsy—the terrorist autopsy infectious?" Kate asked, confused.

"No," Abby said, "I was scared. He did it to make it easier for me. But if he's elbow deep in a body, he won't be able to unlock it. Quick trip!"

Kate frowned.

"That sounds odd," she muttered. "It's against protocol to lock autopsy doors. It interferes with the emergency systems…" Kate trailed off and shrugged a little.

Abby shrugged, thanked her, and disappeared—she was off and to the elevator in an instant, and Kate, a bad feeling taking hold of her, picked up her phone to call Ducky. She hesitated, then dialed the number. He answered, and she asked him to unlock the doors—but he talked over her.

"Yes, I knew you could do it Abby," he said promptly. "See you in ten minutes," he said, and then the line went dead—and Kate frowned.

Ducky must be in a hurry; he wasn't usually so short. Kate hung up the phone and came around her desk. It was a second later that she noticed Madeleine was at her knee, and when she looked down, the little girl put her hand on her hip.

"May I come, Kate? I am helping Abby," she said. "I am pushing the button," she announced.

"Maddie, I don't think that's a good idea," Kate said kindly. "Autopsy isn't a good place for little girls."

"I been before!"

"Yes, but Ducky is doing his job now, and it's icky," Kate said sincerely. "You had better stay—"

She broke off, looking around. Gibbs was in MTAC. Abby had just disappeared—Tony was nowhere to be seen. She couldn't leave Madeleine with an agent she didn't know—well, she could, but Madeleine would probably get scared, and Kate was reluctant to deal with Gibbs if he came back and found his daughter crying or upset.

She sighed and nodded her head, smiling hesitantly.

"Okay," she said. "Promise to stay behind me, though, okay?" she asked.

Madeleine nodded, and skipped towards the elevator, pressing the button _just_ as she had said she would. The doors open, she and Kate stepped on, and Madeleine primly pressed the correct button for the basement—and as the doors slid shut, she smiled and looked up at Kate.

"I'm brave for Abby," she said happily.

Kate smiled at her.

* * *

><p>Gibbs stormed out of MTAC, frustrated. These people—these <em>men—who<em> sacrificed their children on the altar of religious fanaticism, they infuriated him. They pissed him off, baffled him—and what was worse, they scared him. These were the men he had fought, the men he had been fighting when he lost Shannon and Kelly. They were the men who had taken Tali David when she was only eighteen years old, they had put a bottomless look in Ziva David's eyes and they could have killed Madeleine on the streets of Tel Aviv.

He needed to know what Qassam's intent had been—Morrow couldn't believe he was Hamas, but Intel didn't match up with al-Qaeda, and that didn't change the fact that they didn't know what his plan had been. It put Gibbs on edge, rankled him. He didn't like that two days ago he'd shot a terrorist ten miles from where his daughter slept, and then he'd had to go home to her, and tuck her in, and soothe her sore throat, and pretend he didn't have blood on his hands and a threat to her safety to neutralize.

It was terrifying; it really _was_.

Walking back to his desk, he saw Abby pacing by the Most Wanted wall—and he was provoked to smile a little. Was she playing with Madeleine or—no, he realized, as he got closer, Madeleine wasn't there. Abby was muttering to herself. He smirked, and walked up casually.

"Abby," he called lightly.

"Yes?!"

"What're you doing?" he asked curiously.

"I was having an internal debate," she said.

"Hmm. Who's winning?"

"The phobia side," she whined, looking utterly defeated.

"Still can't enter autopsy?"

"No!" she sighed.

"You find any tagged traces of explosives on the terrorist's clothes?" Gibbs asked, momentarily distracted from Madeleine.

"Ducky took everything back before I had a chance to test it," Abby said, holding her hands up and following Gibbs back to the bullpen.

He turned and gave her a confused look.

"_What_?"

"Don't look at me!" Abby said, hands up again. "He just said he wanted everything back, including the blood."

"_Including_ the blood?" Gibbs repeated skeptically.

"It's a bit weird," Abby went on. "There's no way to do a blood test in autopsy."

Gibbs glanced around the bullpen—where was Madeleine?

"Gerald pick it up?" he asked absently.

"Gerald was busy," Abby was saying. "Ducky just wanted me down there, stat!"

That caught Gibbs' attention.

"Stat?" Gibbs asked sharply, looking at Abby roughly.

Alarm bells went off in his head. He pushed past her to his computer, a tense, tight feeling running through his muscles. He had—a bad feeling in his gut, something like he'd felt before in Paris, something like he'd felt—in Tel Aviv.

* * *

><p>The elevator doors opened, and as Madeleine, poised to spring, started to dart forward, Kate made a loud noise to stop her.<p>

"Behind me, remember?" she asked, waiting patiently until Madeleine ducked behind her obediently.

Only then did she step off the elevator, and slowly walk towards the autopsy doors.

* * *

><p>Standing still, as still as a marble statue, just inside the locked autopsy doors, stood Haswari—and he stood there with a gun near his nose and lips. The moment she stepped off the elevator, he recognized Caitlin Todd—for two reasons. The first was that he knew by elimination she was not Abigail Sciuto; there was a time long ago when he had seen Abigail Sciuto as she talked to his baby sister Tali, and so he knew what she looked like. The second reason was that he had dossiers on all of Agent Gibbs' team.<p>

He smiled a little to himself when he saw her dark head approach the doors.

_Ah, Caitlin_, he thought, with a wicked sigh, _I'll be the death of you._

* * *

><p>The elevator doors shut, and Kate knocked hesitantly on the glass of autopsy. She waved at Ducky when he sharply turned at the noise. When he approached, she held up the evidence box.<p>

"You can leave it there," he shouted.

"You have to sign," she said, put off by the locked doors.

"Well, ah," Ducky stammered. "I can't open the doors with you there—I think I might've found something infectious in the body. I was about to turn on the infectious autopsy lights," he explained.

"What's the infection?" Kate asked.

Her profiler instincts kicked in—secret service training—and she sensed, almost all at once, that danger was lurking near—and she could have killed herself for letting Madeleine come along; she should have waited and had Tony watch her—

"Don't know yet," Ducky was answering. "I'll sign, cross my heart," he said, making the signal.

He was dressed in full autopsy gear, face covered. He smiled, but he looked tense.

Madeleine jumped up.

"Ducky!" she called. "I cannot see you!" she squeaked, and then giggled. "Quack!" she called to him, a little game they played—but Kate ignored her; she took in the sudden change in Ducky's face that turned him from tense to terrified in seconds.

Something was wrong—_horribly_ wrong.

"Madeleine," she said very quietly. "Go press the elevator button."

"Kate!"

"NOW," Kate barked meanly, and Madeleine gasped, startled. Her eyes filled with tears. "I beat my phobia!" Kate called to Ducky, trying to buy time for Madeleine to get to the elevator—god she didn't know what was wrong, but she knew she had to get Madeleine back up to Gibbs immediately.

"Yes, I see that," Ducky answered shakily. "Well Done."

He turned, and she was left staring. She bit her lip, and slowly lowered the evidence box to the ground, backing away cautiously as she let go. She looked at Madeleine, who gave her a hurt look and scampered away from her. She tried to smile apologetically—but her attention was drawn away.

The autopsy doors slid open.

She whirled around, grabbing Madeleine in one quick motion and shoving the little girl behind her. Madeleine cried out in protest; Kate went for her gun—but the man in front of her, a tall, lean, animal of a man, already had his weapon trained between her eyes.

"When did lab rats start carrying sig sauers?"

His voice was smooth, like honey, and dangerous all the same—there was a sort of amused, arrogant sparkle in his dark, black eyes.

He clicked his tongue.

"I am afraid you'll have to come inside with us," he said.

His tone was almost soothing; coaxing.

Kate looked at him fiercely.

"You let me send her upstairs," she said, gesturing behind her. "Let me put her in the elevator, and I'll come willingly."

Madeleine struggled. She whimpered, frightened, and babbled something in her foreign language.

Something akin to affection twinkled in the man's assailant eyes.

"Ah," he said quietly, as if he had recognized something. "Ah—you have the little girl," he murmured, almost to himself.

He laughed silkily.

"Caitlin," he said with sick gallantry. "I would like to invite you both in."

"No," Kate said sharply. "You'll have to shoot me before I take her in there."

"If I shoot you," he said mildly, "then who is there left to protect the little one?"

It was logical—in a way, insofar as evil could be logical. If Kate were dead, and Ducky and Gerald at the mercy of this bastard, a four-year-old would stand no chance. Kate swallowed, torn—but stayed where she was. Swiftly, the man approached, and suddenly, his gun was pressed firmly—but subtly—against her throat.

"You both will come in and join us," he said smoothly, "or I will shoot you in front of the child," he remarked, as if he were merely offering a cup of tea, "and that is a sight I guarantee she will never recover from."

Kate swallowed, the cold metal of the gun on her throat making it difficult. She nodded curtly—once—and he stepped back. She crouched and turned, shielding Madeleine for a moment.

She touched the child's face, looked into her pretty green eyes.

"It will be okay, Maddie," she promised protectively. "I won't let him hurt you. You will be okay. Trust me," she said, and then—she offered the sign, along with the Hebrew word, that Gibbs had told them Madeleine sometimes needed to be given in order to listen.

The man scoffed when he heard the word—Kate picked up Madeleine, hugged her tight, and stiffened, turning around to follow him into autopsy. He was staring at her when she turned around, and Madeleine looked at him, her eyes wide—and nothing, nothing in all her training, in all her life, prepared Kate for what happened next.

Madeleine relaxed, lit up into an uncertain, shy smile, and spoke in a stream of soft Hebrew—and she reached out and confidently touched this terrorist's hand, clearly unaware that he held a gun, and she said—quite clearly—

"Shalom, Ari."

* * *

><p>Gibbs heard rather than saw DiNozzo hop up from his desk lazily, interested in what was going on.<p>

"Hey Boss," DiNozzo said blithely. "What's up, Abs?" he asked.

"Something…" Abby trailed off uncertainly.

"Hinky?" DiNozzo finished.

"Tony," barked Gibbs, "get autopsy on the plasma," he ordered. "Abby, where's Kate?"

"Oh! She took the evidence to autopsy for me," Abby said.

Gibbs slammed his hand on his desk.

"DiNozzo! Autopsy! TV! Now!"

DiNozzo scrambled up rapidly.

"Why would Ducky say stat?" Gibbs asked curtly.

"Because he's a doctor and because stat means fast and medical emergency?" Abby supplied.

"Medical emergency," Gibbs finished with her, "but what's a medical emergency in autopsy?" he asked tensely.

Blue nothingness appeared on the plasma.

"All I'm getting is snow," DiNozzo said.

Gibbs stared at the screen. He set his jaw and slowly looked over at Tony—and then, while he was looking at him, his eyes narrowed.

"Boss?" Tony asked. "You think-?"

"Possible hostage situation," Gibbs agreed, and then he looked past his lead agent. "Tony," he said very quietly. "Is Madeleine hiding under your desk?"

Tony looked taken aback. He shook his head.

"Uh, no."

Gibbs looked around. He looked for a sign of little shoes or a little auburn head—his eyes found nothing.

"Emmy," he called, raising his voice a little. "Madeleine Jane Gibbs!" he barked, and the panic in his tone came out as rage.

He earned a few surprised stares from other agents—and from his team—but Madeleine did not materialize.

"Where's Madeleine, Tony?" Gibbs asked tightly.

"I," Tony began, his face going white.

He looked at Abby over Gibbs' shoulder, and then back at Gibbs, a feeling of dread washing over him.

"I," he stammered again. "I saw—the elevator, and Kate—" he wasn't coherent; Gibbs strode forward and grabbed him at the side of the head, his palm squeezing painfully against DiNozzo's skull.

"_Where the hell is my daughter, DiNozzo_?" Gibbs demanded violently.

Tony stared at Gibbs, thunderstruck, his heart racing, struggling to answer. His boss—the panicked, angry father in front of him-struck him hard in the back of the head, the mother of all wake-up call Gibbs-slaps, and Tony swallowed hard, and answered:

"She's with Kate."

* * *

><p><strong><em>End: November, 2004<em>**

_I know, I know! Six months without posting and I smack you with a cliffhanger; don't get out the pitchforks! _

_The events and time of "Bete Noir" have been slightly adjusted, but 95% of the dialogue is taken directly from the episode (save for the addition of Madeleine, obviously). McGee wasn't on the team in Season 1, so I had him off in Norfolk so I wouldn't have to maneuver him in. _

_Feedback Appreciated!  
>-Alexandra <em>


	12. Shtem-esreh

_A/N: I didn't completely despise this chapter as much as I did the last two! Wrapping up (sort of) the Ari cliffhanger, and moving on to some fluffy, fun goodness. Expect some angst for Gibbs, but all in a good way. Hey, I did promise I was focusing only on Mishpokhe-compared to the last time, this update came pretty quickly, don't you think?_

_Beta credit to JibbsGal1._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Twelve<strong>_

_**November, 2004**_

Tony turned pale, his mouth gone dry. He steeled himself to be sworn at, shouted at, head-slapped—he waited for Gibbs to bark orders, to move—but Gibbs didn't do _anything_. Of all the things DiNozzo was expecting in the moments after he confirmed that little Madeleine was in autopsy with Kate, Gibbs' lack of action was not one of those things.

Abby gave a little squeak that was a mixture of dismay and uncertain terror, but Gibbs stood still, remarkably, unnaturally still, his eyes boring into DiNozzo's as if he wasn't even seeing him.

DiNozzo rubbed his jaw, his hand shaking slightly.

"Boss," he muttered.

"Tony," Abby piped up in a small voice. "What's wrong with him?"

In the face of her worried question, DiNozzo snapped to. He straightened up, leaned forward, and clapped his hands together in Gibbs' face.

"BOSS!" he shouted, clenching his teeth together firmly. "_Madeleine's_ down there," he reiterated. "Possible _hostage_ situation."

Gibbs barely blinked when DiNozzo smacked his hands together, but his jaw muscle flinched and he nodded curtly, turning on his heel. He was at his desk in seconds, back in control, as if nothing had deterred him in the first place—Tony noticed his hands didn't shake, nor did he look concerned or panicked as he picked up his phone.

He pointed at Tony, his eyes flickering to the static snow present on the autopsy television video feed.

"Punch up autopsy receiving and stairwell cameras. Then the building floor plans," he ordered.

"On it, Boss," Tony confirmed, jumping to complete the task.

"Gibbs for the Director," he said coolly into his phone. He looked up. "Abby, did Ducky sound funny?"

Clutching her hands together, Abby whirled to face Gibbs, her pigtails swaying.

"Kind of tense. Like when a test result isn't what he expected," she answered with a surprising essence of calm.

Gibbs twitched a thankful nod at her. He lowered his head.

"Director," he said when Morrow picked up the line, "we may have intruders in autopsy. Possible hostage situation." Saying it for the third time made it no less daunting, but Gibbs had no time to let fear strike him again. He forced the panicking part of him into a deep trench in the back of his mind.

"Uh, Boss, we got an ambulance outside of autopsy receiving," DiNozzo announced.

"Yes, sir," Gibbs was saying. "I think we should alert HRT and open a command center in MTAC." He listened for a moment and nodded. "Aye aye, sir," he agreed, before crashing his phone into the cradle. He slammed the clip into his gun and holstered it.

Abby hugged herself.

"I should be down there," she burst out quietly, walking closer to Gibbs.

"Tony, where's my floor plan?"

DiNozzo pulled up the building's blueprint on the television screen and Gibbs faced it, Abby sidling up close to his side. Gibbs pointed firmly at the screen.

"Okay. Two agents in the receiving bay, two in the elevator here." He adjusted the frequency on his walkie-talkie and announced: "TAC 1."

DiNozzo repeated the frequency to show he understood. Gibbs kept his eyes on the blueprints.

"Abs, how do I rotate this thing?"

"Just tell me what you need," she said anxiously, her hand brushing his and squeezing his fingers as she darted to his desk.

"Your lab and autopsy, all entrances and exits," he ordered.

He kept staring at the blueprints. If he took his eyes off them, there was the unstable chance he'd go charging down the stairs to autopsy, protocol be damned. Abby pulled up the plans for autopsy, and he made her rotate it until he found a spot that coordinated with the wall of her lab, and he stopped her.

"What's this right here?" he demanded, pointing at a spot on the screen.

"My gas chromatograph."

"Can it be moved?"

"Yeah!"

"Do it," he ordered sharply. "Abby, I need a drill and a flexible video probe."

He had to get eyes in autopsy somehow, if only to ensure that Madeleine was all right.

"Agents are on their way," DiNozzo said, falling in step beside Gibbs as they left the bullpen. "We taking the basement stairwell?" he asked, his eyes on his boss with both determination and apprehension—he was still shaken that he'd had to wake Gibbs up, snap him to reality. He hadn't ever expected he'd have to do that to _the_ Boss.

"Yeah," Gibbs grunted, distracted.

DiNozzo followed him closely, and at the door to the stairs, he caught his shoulder.

"Boss," he said bravely, grabbing his shoulder tightly. "I can take the lead on this one," he offered.

The irate look that flashed through Gibbs' eyes made him wince, and he pulled his hand back before Gibbs could rip it off and feed it to him. Gibbs bit back a cruel comment about not trusting DiNozzo; he couldn't afford to take his agent off his A-game right now—but he also couldn't afford to cede control of this situation to someone else. If Gibbs wasn't in charge of it, he'd make reckless decisions—if he wasn't responsible for everyone down there, Ducky, Kate, Gerald, and Madeleine, then he'd lose perspective, and he'd only care if Madeleine got out safe.

He needed his perspective right now. He needed the control.

Kelly's smiling face flashed before his eyes.

_He needed to be there this time._

* * *

><p>Kate grappled with the maelstrom of emotions raging through her as the nameless captor patted her down—or rather, felt her up—for weapons. His hands wandered where they shouldn't; he checked for weapons where no woman in her right mind would ever hide a weapon. Kate thought him a pervert; she had no way of knowing that this was a man whose two sisters were known to hide weapons in unconventional places.<p>

He held a gun lazily in one hand—lazily, but not irresponsibly; there was no doubt that he was well practiced in using it, though there seemed to be a sort of reluctance in him to resort to doing so. It wasn't so much the loose grip on the gun that terrified Kate as it was the fact that he held Madeleine around her little waist with the very same hand; he held the child and the gun on one side, and felt Kate for hidden weaponry with the other.

"No throwaway?" he asked, abandoning her legs and picking up the jacket he'd asked her to take off.

He languidly went through the pockets, his weapon dangling near Madeleine's feet.

"Special Agent Caitlin Todd," he drawled, his hands flicking open her badge. He knew her from his research, of course, but feigning innocence was best here. So long as he could keep the child quiet—and that would be easy—he could get out clean and go about his original business. "You any good with this gun, Caitlin?" he asked.

He removed the clip from her Sig and pushed it away. He set his own weapon down, and both of his hands went to support Madeleine.

"Give it back to me, and I'll demonstrate," Kate snapped violently, goose bumps breaking out on her skin at the way he handled Madeleine. She was still reeling from the little girl's reaction to the man, but Madeleine had said nothing since the autopsy doors had closed behind them. She had willingly, almost eagerly, let him take her into his arms, and then she had fallen into silence when he said something to her in muted Hebrew.

He chuckled mildly at her sass.

"Ever fire it?" he asked. "In anger?"

"I would love to right now."

"I cannot see that being wise," the man answered mildly. "You might by accident hit this darling. Did you shoot Qassam?"

He switched gears so quickly that Kate barely had time to gasp at his threat against Madeleine.

"Did you put that double tap in his heart?"

His voice was so cool, so emotionless. He looked at Madeleine as he spoke, conversing almost with her, as if he were asking a child of his own if she'd had a good day at school.

Kate said nothing.

"She didn't shoot him," Ducky spoke up.

"Who did?"

"Special Agent Gibbs," Ducky answered boldly, looking up at the man from his place on the floor.

"Ducky!" Kate burst out angrily.

"That name rings a bell, Doctor Mallard," the man said, almost gleefully. He pulled the box of evidence towards him and said something to Madeleine. She giggled, and then began picking up items and showing them to him as if seeking approval.

"Don't answer this bastard!" Kate ordered, more enraged by the minute by her helpless position—it was bad enough that she was being held hostage by some fiend in her own place of work, and it was worse that she had landed her boss' daughter in this frightening mess—but Ducky's cooperation with this terrorist was too much to bear.

"You mustn't chastise the good doctor, Caitlin," the man said mildly. "At least not until you know my rules."

He was opening some of the evidence and dangling it for Madeleine as if she were a cat. He spoke to her softly, as if in a different world, and then she shook her head and poked his chest.

"Ziva," she said clearly. "Let me see her."

Ari hushed her in firm tones, and she fell silent, a worried look furrowing her brow.

"I don't play by terrorists' rules," Kate interrupted loudly.

What was he _doing_ to Madeleine—using her as a pawn to get his job done? Frightening her? Kate was baffled, confused—the four-year-old was going along with it as if she weren't even scared!

"Who says I am a terrorist?" the man asked flippantly.

He slid a vial of blood into his pocket.

"Doctor," he asked, "is this all the evidence?"

"From what I can see from here. Gerald?"

"It looks like all of it," Gerald said tensely.

"Gerald," Madeleine said. "Horse ride?" she asked.

Gerald sometimes carried her about on his tall, broad shoulders. He smiled at her with a stressed wince and shook his head.

"Caitlin," the man said, "you may roll over now. If you keep your hands where they are."

Kate did so, her eyes wide and stern as she turned. He stood over her, Madeleine in his arms, looking blithe and unconcerned. He had sharp features, recognizable features, and she had no doubt his was a face she would never in her lifetime forget. She tried to smile weakly at Madeleine. Madeleine pointed to him.

"Kate," she said. "My Ari."

Kate didn't know what it meant. Was that his name? Did Madeleine mean—that _Ari_ was his name? Hadn't she said it before?

"Did special agents search Qassam's room?" he asked, ignoring Madeleine.

Kate simply glared at him.

"Where is the evidence that was bagged and tagged?" he demanded.

When Kate again said nothing, he smirked and stroked Madeleine's hair as he began a catlike walk around her.

"Doctor. Please explain the rules to stubborn little Caitlin."

He picked up his gun.

"If we lie, or he thinks we're lying, he'll put a bullet in one of Gerald's joints," Ducky said reluctantly—but promptly.

Madeleine turned in his arms and looked at Kate. She rested her head on his shoulder and frowned—she wondered vaguely why Kate wasn't happy to see Ari, and why Ducky and Gerald were sitting like little children in trouble on the floor.

"Be specific," Ari instructed. "Ball and socket joints—and you omitted one condition."

"I did?" Ducky asked, with a spectacular air of innocence.

He, too, was strained by the sight of Gibbs' daughter snuggled to the terrorist; he, too was startled at her apparent lack of fear in the face of such a situation.

"Yes, you did."

"Oh! Yes," Ducky said, an old man _suddenly_ remembering. "We mustn't try to trick him."

Ari turned his head a bit.

"Which you tried to do, Caitlin, by saying you beat your phobia."

A dangerous tone had crept into the man's voice, and his eyes met Kate's harshly. He stroked Madeleine's hair again—gently.

"She didn't know the rules," Ducky defended simply.

"Ah, but you did, Dr. Mallard," Ari said coolly.

His arm moved; his fingers flexed around his weapon, and then he pressed his mouth to Madeleine's ear and whispered something. Crinkling her nose in a smile, she lifted her hands to her ears and pressed, covering them, and then she buried her face in Ari's neck, and he wrapped one arm around her tightly.

"You joined the ruse," Ari said to Ducky, "by calling her Abby."

With the other free hand, he raised the weapon, pointed directly at one of poor Gerald's shoulder joints, and fired mercilessly.

The shot rang through autopsy, and even though the silencer on the gun muffled it, Gerald's cry was loud and piercing, and Madeleine flinched in fright and started to sob.

In mild, quiet Hebrew, Ari shushed her, and assured her that he wouldn't hurt her.

* * *

><p>Glowing red lights pulsated from the autopsy door, warning outsiders against an infectious body. Ignoring the false alert, Gibbs peered through the cracked emergency staircase door, DiNozzo close on his heels.<p>

"Autopsy's dark," Gibbs muttered. "Who'd you get to back us?" he asked.

"Pacci's covering receiving, Balboa, the elevator," DiNozzo answered immediately.

Gibbs touched his hand to his headset.

"Pacci? Gibbs. You in place?"

Pacci confirmed he was.

"Ambulance is empty," Pacci said. "The elevator door is closed. You want us to enter?"

"Negative, hold your position," Gibbs ordered tensely.

They couldn't go barging in until they knew what they were dealing with and how much danger Madeleine was in. Madeleine—and his other people, too. He _had_ to remember it wasn't just his daughter down there.

"Balboa?" Gibbs asked.

"Standing by. Personnel elevator locked down."

"Disable the bell and go down to autopsy. Do not open the doors," Gibbs instructed. He turned towards the stairs. "I'm going to MTAC," he said to DiNozzo.

DiNozzo pressed himself against the wall.

"We got a hostage situation, don't we boss?" he asked tiredly, reaffirming it.

Gibbs inclined is head, his expression unreadable.

"Time to make a phone call," he said.

"Yep," agreed Tony quietly.

Negotiate; they had to negotiate.

DiNozzo swallowed and turned back, looking through the crack to the autopsy doors. His partner was in there, trapped with Madeleine and Ducky and Gerald. He wondered how many people were keeping them and what they were threatening—_and_ what they wanted.

He listened to Gibbs' harsh footsteps as the Boss stormed violently up the stairs for the MTAC command center.

Tony made up his mind that if he had to die to keep Madeleine Gibbs safe, that wouldn't be such a bad way to go.

* * *

><p>Gibbs didn't think for a moment this was a coincidence; whoever the bastard in autopsy was, he was here because of Qassam—he was cleaning up a mess, and they had to figure out what his damn game was.<p>

NCIS was on high alert, which meant notices would go out to all field offices across the country and cross continent; within hours Jenny would receive a statement with no details telling her the Navy Yard was in crises mode, and with no information, she'd lose her mind worrying about it.

It comforted him briefly to know that she wouldn't be twice worried; it wasn't a day Madeleine was at work with him usually, so she would only be thinking about him—and he knew from personal experience that worry for a spouse or significant other, stressful as it was, was nothing near as painful and debilitating as worry for a child.

Morrow met him at the top of the stairs, just outside the entrance to MTAC.

"Gibbs," he greeted curtly, the muscles of his face stressed. "Ms. Sciuto tells me your daughter is in autopsy with Agent Todd."

Gibbs controlled his features expertly.

"She's in good hands with Kate," he said blankly.

Morrow hesitated.

"I am reluctant to give you lead on this due to your personal connection, Gibbs," he said tiredly—and he well knew it was futile to even suggest Gibbs sit this one out.

Gibbs didn't miss a beat.

"They're my people, sir," he said sharply. He paused. "If I don't lead this one, and something happens—" he paused. "Shepard would never forgive me," he said bluntly and decided it was true. If it were Jenny, she wouldn't sit it out, even if a hard call had to be made—and he'd be damned if he'd bow out on his responsibility to her.

Morrow inclined his head.

"You want me to call up Shepard on a line in MTAC?"

Gibbs looked at the Director as if he'd lost his mind.

"No, sir," he said firmly. "We don't tell Shepard a damn thing until I have concrete details."

"I think it would be best if we viewed her as a mother rather than an agent at this point, Gibbs," Morrow answered tightly.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"I don't think you want to upset a _mother_ with the fate of our Middle Eastern relations in her hands, _Director_."

* * *

><p>Madeleine craned her head nervously to see what all the grown ups were doing, but Ari was quick to whisk her to a place where she couldn't see and to distract her with softly snapping fingers. Ducky was yelling and Gerald was being loud and Kate was angry—Madeleine was simply confused. She was so elated to see Ari again—she had even though he brought Ziva with him to see her! But it turned out he hadn't and none of the adults knew who he was, and Ari kept saying in his gentle, nice voice that if she told them about him, he might get hurt. Madeleine didn't want Ari to get hurt. When Tali had gotten hurt, Tali had gone away forever. Daddy said when his other little girl Kelly got hurt, she went away forever, too. Madeleine didn't want anyone to go away forever.<p>

She so wanted to tell Kate that Ari was one of the Israel Ninjas, but he was making the safe sign with his hand and saying the safe words with his voice. Ima had always taught her to trust that sign and those words—so she kept her mouth shut for Ari.

"Ari," she whispered in Hebrew. "Ari, I want my Aba."

Ari did not answer her, but he patted her head. He wandered over to the place where the others where, tucking her head into his shoulder mildly. He lifted his chin and rested it lightly on the crown of her head.

"You bastard!" Kate shouted.

Madeleine didn't know what the word meant, but she knew it was a bad word—there was a way she could just tell when people were using mean, bad words. They said them _differently_.

"You seem like such a bright young woman, and that's all you can say?" Ari asked.

It seemed like he was teasing Kate.

"You fucking bastard!" Kate swore.

Madeleine covered her ears. Really bad words. She knew _that_ one. Daddy never said it but Mommy did sometimes, when she was hurt. Mommy liked bad words more than Daddy did, Madeleine had noticed. It made people listen to her faster.

Ducky snapped at Kate for swearing.

"My medical bag, it's over by the desk on the floor—" he said.

"Is Gerald hurt?" Madeleine asked in a small voice, struggling to lift her head away from Ari.

He let her move and she looked around, her eyes wide. Gerald was lying on the big metal table, and he had red all over him—Madeleine's lips puckered and her eyes watered. She knew the red was blood. She had seen it on Mommy when the big fire happened in Tel Aviv. She felt a little bit sick as she stared, and she shook her head.

"Ari, I must not look at the blood," she said, falling into quiet Hebrew. "Ima says no violence."

"Tuck your head into my shoulder, little one," he answered in his soothing tongue.

Kate ran past him with Ducky's medical bag, and he grabbed her.

"I would dislike having to put a slug in Gerald's knee as well," he growled in English.

Madeleine understood, of course, but she didn't know what the words meant. Slugs were icky creatures, and she thought it mean of Ari to put them on Gerald. Kate leapt away, her eyes finding Madeleine's. Madeleine smiled at her weakly. She clung to Ari for comfort, beginning to feel afraid and confused. She felt like the people in _Star Wars_ when they said they had bad feelings.

Ari knew the safe word, but Gerald was hurt, and Kate was spitting mad at Ari for it. Madeleine didn't think—she didn't think Ari would hurt anyone! Ari had babysat her before; Mama trusted him!

Madeleine buried her face away, whimpering quietly—she remembered that Daddy didn't like Ari.

Maybe Ari was like the man in _Star Wars_ who made Princess Leia go with Darth Vader? Maybe he was a pretend friend?

Madeleine clutched his shirt hopefully.

"I want Daddy," she whispered.

* * *

><p>DiNozzo was crouched low in the hallway, eyeing the doors of autopsy critically from his vantage point. A figure in a pink shirt darted madly by the windows, and he picked up his microphone, lifting it to his lips.<p>

"Gibbs, DiNozzo. Kate just ran past the doors of autopsy," he paused. "And she just ran back again."

His heart slammed against his chest. It looked as if something was gravely wrong—why was Kate running?

"Madeleine?" Gibbs asked tensely.

DiNozzo swallowed.

"I can't see her," he admitted unhappily.

"I read you, Tony," Gibbs muttered. "Standby."

DiNozzo nodded to himself, focused intensely on the doors. If he could just get some _sign_ that Madeleine was okay, it would make him feel more at ease. He would be so grateful if he could be the one to tell Gibbs that he'd seen Madeleine alive and well.

Crouched and cramped in the stairwell, he thought about what Madeleine had said in the car when she was sick—all that babbling about a dead sister and what not. He didn't think it was too nosy of him to want to know the details, and he desperately wanted to know the details. He thought it would help him better understand Gibbs—and he thought they could all benefit from understanding Gibbs a little better.

* * *

><p>"No video for autopsy."<p>

Gibbs glared heavily at the video feeds onscreen, barely listening to the Director tell him what he already knew. He clenched his jaw tightly and set his shoulders back, steeling himself a hundred times over to deal with this. If he hadn't left Madeleine alone in the bullpen—if he had let Noemi keep her today—dammit, if she hadn't been sick, she wouldn't even be here today of all days—

"It's a hostage situation, Director," he said coolly. He shrugged. It was natural the video was out, then. "Three of our people: Doctor Mallard, his assistant Gerald Jackson, Special Agent Kate Todd," he paused, "and one non-NCIS personnel," he added.

"Madeleine Gibbs," Morrow said, more to the people around them.

Gibbs ignored the shocked murmur that went through the techs and clamped his teeth together even tighter.

"Unknown number of dirt bags," he said tightly.

"Let's find out," Morrow muttered. "Start tape," he ordered to a tech and pressed a button to call down to autopsy.

Ducky answered after too many rings.

"Ducky," Gibbs said smoothly, his voice light. "What's with the infectious autopsy?"

"Purely precautionary," the doctor answered, without a trace of distress in his voice.

"That why you took the evidence back?" Gibbs asked skeptically.

"Yeah, sorry," Ducky answered—and now he did sound distracted. "I'm _really_ busy," he said tensely.

Gibbs clenched his fists at his side to remain in control.

"Hey, is Kate there?"

"N-No," Ducky answered hesitantly. "She left a few minutes ago."

"She's got Madeleine," Gibbs said mildly. He paused. "Madeleine needs a nap," he added.

There was a scuffling noise.

"I'M TOO BIG FOR NAPS!" Madeleine screamed through the receiver.

Gibbs couldn't help the grin that rocketed across his lips. It was one of both relief and amusement, and he felt like collapsing in a heap. He had managed to establish that they were on speakerphone—Ducky's answers were being controlled—and he'd heard Madeleine, safe and sound. If she was complaining, then she was okay.

He nodded his head, glancing at Morrow. Madeleine let out a string of annoyed Hebrew, and he took that as another good sign.

"Okay," Gibbs said slowly. "You let me know when I can come down. You got me curious," he said smoothly.

"DADDY-!"

The line was cut before he could hear anything Madeleine said, but he hadn't heard any distress, so he was fairly sure no one had hurt her for speaking out. He took a breath and stepped back, less fear and more determination present in him. DiNozzo came back through his earpiece—

"Unknown male in autopsy wearing greens. Medium build and height."

"Copy," he said, registering the information.

Morrow cleared his throat.

"FBI hostage rescue team will be onsite in seven minutes," he said gruffly. "We need an eye on autopsy."

"On it," Gibbs agreed, his thoughts flying to Abby in her lab.

He maximized autopsy's snowy feed for MTAC and then stormed out of the threat assessment center. He took the stairs quickly down to the bullpen and then further down to the lab, nearly flying over them—even when he was taking them three stories, he could run faster than an elevator could get him there.

* * *

><p>Kate swallowed hard as she helped Ducky sit Gerald up.<p>

"How's he doing?" she asked tightly.

"I'm fine," Gerald slurred, his mind murky with morphine.

"Bleeding stopped," Kate said hopefully. "That's good?"

"Yes, and no," the terrorist drawled, pacing around with Madeleine still snuggled infuriatingly in his arms. "Correct, Doctor Mallard?"

Ducky looked ill.

"I had to clamp his auxiliary artery to stop it," he muttered unhappily.

"Which means," supplied the terrorist silkily, "Gerald will lose his arm if the artery isn't repaired and the blood flow restored soon."

Ari said this as if it was a mere nothing, and his eyes were on Madeleine as he did so. He played with her hair as a bored child might play with his sister's doll, and Madeleine lay there against his chest limply, listening to what he said when he said it.

"Ducky," Kate asked desperately, drawing her eyes from Madeleine worriedly. "Can't you do that?'"

"This is an autopsy room, not an ER," Ducky answered snippily. "No, I can't. I'm sorry. He's going to need a fully equipped room and staff."

Ari roamed over closer, and Madeleine sat up straight, her eyes wide on Gerald again.

"Gerald," she piped up. "You are hurt?"

Gerald nodded. Kate turned her eyes hesitantly on Madeleine.

"He's okay, sweetheart," she said unconvincingly. "Just don't look at him."

Madeleine glared at her.

"If I look away, he will not heal just because," she said smartly, and withdrew towards Ari.

"He needs a hospital!" Ducky repeated fiercely.

"Which he will get, as soon as I am out of here," Ari said simply, turning his back on them and leaning against the counter.

He spoke in Hebrew to Madeleine, and she sighed unhappily and shook her head. She poked him in the chest playfully and cocked an eyebrow. She made a clicking sound with her tongue, like an old matron.

"Aba will grab your neck again," she said matter-of-factly—and in English.

_Again_?

Kate went still as she tried to make sense of the words. She made a show of pretending she hadn't heard, of helping Ducky—and Ari ignored Madeleine and turned his head slightly.

"So where is the evidence collected in Qassam's room?"

Kate almost didn't answer—but she couldn't allow her anger to be punished using Gerald.

"The lockup," she answered tersely.

"Which is?"

"In the garage. One floor up."

"Same way I came in!"

"I don't know how you came in," Kate snapped tightly.

"In a body bag," the terrorist answered—almost teasing.

She cocked her head.

"Same way you're going out," she mocked.

"Is it the same garage?" he asked.

"No," Ducky answered. "The evidence locker is in the garage next to forensics. Above us," he said, pointing up to the ceiling.

Ari's eyes trailed up lazily. Kate watched him, glaring at him only for a moment before she looked down at Madeleine. She silently tried to communicate with the little girl—plead with her. She didn't want to do something that would provoke this man to injure Madeleine, or anyone else, but she was flying blind and she knew intuitively—if not from all of the obvious signs—that Madeleine knew this man.

Her hands trembling, Kate lifted her hand and made the safe sign to Madeleine, hoping it would get her to talk—oh she _wished_ she knew sign language. If Abby had come down instead, she could sign to Madeleine; they could have planned something.

Madeleine nodded.

"Ari is safe," she agreed, and Kate closed her eyes helplessly.

Madeleine didn't _understand_.

* * *

><p>Gibbs brushed dust and grime away from the neatly drilled hole in Abby's floor.<p>

"You heard her voice?" Abby asked again. "She sounded safe?"

Gibbs just nodded; he couldn't talk about Madeleine right now. The more he focused on getting her out, the less he was preoccupied with what could happen to her—and he had to prevent himself from thinking what could happen to her. He knew—oh he knew what it felt like to have a child ripped away from him, and he couldn't bear the mere thought of it happening again. On top of that, the notion that he might have to tell Jenny if something happened, if Madeleine didn't come out okay—he didn't think he could take it. He couldn't pick up the pieces. He didn't think he'd be able to take care of her if Madeleine—

He shook his head mildly, as if he could shake the thoughts away. He bit the inside of his lip as he slid the bendable camera into the hole, maneuvering it slowly into autopsy. He jerked around and looked over his shoulder, watching the picture come up on Abby's plasma. He used that as a guide, twisting the camera around the dimly lit room below.

Images clarified on the screen.

"Oh god, Gerald!" Abby murmured, distressed. "I should be in there."

Gibbs stood and went to look at the screen, his jaw rigid. He saw Gerald, wounded with a gunshot and sitting feebly on the table—Ducky and Kate, both of whom were tending to him, flanked him. On the edges of the camera's field of vision stalked the man DiNozzo had vaguely described—and Gibbs looked, and looked, his eyes searching—until he realized—

The intruder was _holding_ Madeleine—_holding_ her in his _arms_.

"Can you feed it up to MTAC?" he barked at Abby, swallowing hard as the intruder walked into the shadows and disappeared from sight.

Abby did nothing, and he rounded on her sharply.

"Hey," he growled hoarsely. "Maybe you're not there Abby because you are needed _here_. Go," he snapped softly, pointing her towards the computer.

He turned back to face the screen, his eyes on autopsy.

He shuddered to think how scared his daughter must be, snatched up in the grip of some stranger. He wondered—he wondered if she had seen this man shoot Gerald, and if she had, how badly would she be traumatized by it? She hadn't been much damaged by the bombing in Tel Aviv, but she had been younger then, and she hadn't actually _seen_ her mother get hurt or Tali killed. All she remembered from that day was the loud noise and scraping her knee when Gibbs threw himself down to shield her.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes as the man came around towards the light again—there was something in the catlike way he walked that was—

"One intruder," Morrow said in his earpiece.

Gibbs was looking at him, the one intruder. The intruder was looking at the camera, his face coming into focus—his familiar, unforgettable face. Gibbs stared, unblinking, at the man in autopsy, the man who was holding Madeleine as if he'd known her her whole life—because in fact he _had_.

"Son of a bitch," Gibbs swore violently.

"Gibbs?" Abby and Morrow asked at the same time.

Abby turned to him and put her hands on him gently, soothingly; she knew he must be upset to see that awful man holding his little girl—and Gibbs still didn't move, even when she sidled close to him for a half-hug.

Gibbs stared as Ari Haswari pointed at the camera and cocked his head, his lips moving. Madeleine tilted her head up, and she lifted her hand and waved her fingers sweetly, her lips moving wildly as she did so.

Haswari raised a gun and then all Gibbs and Abby were looking at was the barrel of a weapon—until he fired, and there was snow again, and Gibbs reeled back. He threw Abby off of him tensely and she leapt away from him as if burned, frightened by the look in his eyes.

"What's wrong, Gibbs?" she asked unhappily.

He was already out of her lab—charging back up the stairs.

He pressed his hand to his earpiece.

"Director—get me Mossad on video conference," he barked—and when he heard the Director start to protest, he interrupted him insubordinately: "_NOW_!"

* * *

><p>Kate was still helping Ducky tend to Gerald, but she was distracted; she spent her time with her eyes on Ari.<p>

He had discarded his scrubs, and he was fooling around with the things she had brought from Abby's lab for him. He was no longer holding Madeleine; he had let her sit upon the autopsy table he was using, and he conversed with her in a gently, flat tone—it infuriated Kate. It infuriated her that Madeleine was so sweet and calm even though she knew it wasn't the child's fault, and it infuriated her that she herself was so confused and unsure of what was going on.

It was obvious Madeleine knew who this man was, and it then followed that Gibbs knew him, too—and had apparently attacked him before. Kate didn't know if Gibbs had cottoned on to what was going down yet, or if he knew who exactly was keeping them hostage, but she desperately tried to devise a way to get them out of this situation. She had no way of telling Madeleine that this man was dangerous without Ari hearing her and shooting Gerald; she wasn't sure she had the strength to battle it out with Ari on her own—and she was terrified if she did that he would take it out on Gerald.

She was worried about Gerald—because she somehow knew that this terrorist, this intruder, was not going to hurt Madeleine. It was something in Kate's gut, something instinctive, which told her he wouldn't lay a hand on Gibbs' daughter. Perhaps it was because he knew her; perhaps it was something else. He spoke to her as if she were an adult; there were no childish pretenses in his tone. Madeleine was responding to him less fondly now, and that heartened Kate, but she had reverted completely to Hebrew and that put Kate at a new disadvantage. She could only discern that Madeleine was asking repeatedly about her mother, and she only knew that because she'd heard the word for _Mommy_ so many times.

Ari lifted Madeleine and left the table he was working at.

"Doctor," he called. "Caitlyn. Put Qassam in the body bag," he ordered.

They moved hesitantly and stopped when an alarm began to sound.

"Now. Please."

Kate and Ducky obeyed, and Ari looked down at Madeleine.

"Soon they'll be calling to negotiate your release," he said to her sweetly.

"We don't negotiate with terrorists," Kate said swiftly.

Ari cocked his head, eyes still on Madeleine.

"Caitlyn," he said mildly. "When you get to know me better, you won't call me that."

"Terrors made Tali get hurt," Madeleine murmured softly.

She spoke English; she spoke English only when Ari did so first. He nodded to her, and Kate noticed he was in his own world with her whenever he did focus on only Madeleine.

"Ari," Madeleine murmured. "Terrors are why Ima sent me away."

"Terrors took me away from my mother, as well," Ari answered in Hebrew.

Kate didn't know what he said, but Madeleine pressed a kiss to his cheek and hugged him—and Kate felt sick.

"I have no intention of getting to know you better," she said loudly, drawing his attention back to her.

She wanted Madeleine to sense that something was wrong.

Ari lifted his eyes to her searchingly.

"Are you sure?"

She looked up at him harshly—was she _sure_? Did he really think she'd want to go out for tea and scones with a man who shot her coworker in front of her very eyes? He was—he was delusional!

She unzipped the body bag violently, her eyes stony.

He smiled at her as if he'd just cornered his prey.

* * *

><p>Gibbs didn't have time to be surprised at the ease with which Mossad responded to a request for communiqué; he had work to do and it could be that Ziva David was the key to the survival of his people. He hardly waited for her face to come into focus on the MTAC screen in front of him; the moment he was given a signal that they had clear audio feed, he narrowed his eyes and launched into a verbal attack.<p>

"Ziva," he growled violently, dispensing with the formalities. "What the hell is your bastard half brother doing shooting NCIS personnel in the agency basement?"

There was crackling silence as she came into focus, and he noticed her face was slightly whiter than it should be. He could see her throat move as she swallowed; a muscle pulsed in her forehead near her widow's peak, and after a moment, her elegant eyebrows lifted mildly.

"Agent Gibbs," she greeted lazily. "You mean to inform me that you have located Haswari?"

Gibbs could have leapt through the screen and throttled her.

"Well, Officer David, that's not the answer I wanted to hear," he barked.

What the hell did she mean, suggesting Mossad had no idea where he'd been all this time? That—just confirmed that Haswari was rogue; he had to be off his leash and in with the wrong side of the fight if he was storming around the sights without the consent of Mossad, breaking into foreign agencies and threatening their people.

"I am afraid I am confused," Ziva said bluntly, while MTAC sizzled with tense activity around Gibbs. "Have I heard you correctly—_Ari is at NCIS_?"

"You heard me," Gibbs answered tensely. "He's holding my people hostage!"

There was the barest, _vaguest_ hint of consternation in Ziva's dark, proud eyes, and she fell silent again. Her lips puckered slightly and her brow furrowed; she was weighing her options, considering how to handle this.

"I must speak with Director David," she began silkily.

"No," Gibbs interrupted curtly. "We don't have time for that. We don't have time for your daddy to put him in time out," he lashed out viciously, losing grip on professionalism momentarily. "What the hell is going on, Ziva?"

Her glare was cold for a moment, and she punished him with silence before she chose to answer.

"Ari is—how is the expression said? He is up to his eyeballs?—in deep cover identities. He went off radar when it became too risky to have any connections to anyone whatsoever," she paused, thinking. "It is…unexpected for him to have turned up in the United States, but if he has, I must assume he has followed his lead there."

"You gotta give me more, Ziva."

"I cannot. There is nothing else to tell," she answered, tight-lipped.

He swore again, loudly. He knew it was partly because she was sworn to secrecy by her nation, but the other half of Ziva's reluctance was a desire to save face in front of the employees of NCIS. He could read it in her eyes—she'd been panicking over Ari's drop off the radar, and she was relieved he had turned up, even if she didn't know what the hell he was doing.

"Whatever he is doing, Jethro," Ziva said. "It is to maintain his cover."

"He's cleaning up for a terrorist cell!" Gibbs snarled. "He's covering a terrorist's tracks. Ziva, he—" Gibbs stopped short of accusing Ari of terrorism and jihad, and swallowed his anger. He changed gears instead, appealing to her better nature in front of everyone. "You read me in on his mission, Ziva," he ordered. "Read me in, and I'll tell you whether he's gone rogue or not."

"He has not, and I cannot."

"_Goddamnit_, David!"

"You and Agent Shepard have the same temper, and neither of you will sway me," Ziva taunted quietly.

"Speaking of Agent Shepard," Gibbs barked poisonously. "Would you like to tell her—" Gibbs broke off abruptly, realizing he was about to announce to everyone in the room who Madeleine's mother was. He'd probably said enough for them to guess, but he shut his mouth anyway, and then lashed out in a different way. "He has my daughter!"

The colour drained from Ziva's face—and it so satisfied Gibbs to see her look so startled and upset that he forgot to care that he'd just sensationalized Madeleine's danger in order to get his way.

"He has Madeleine?" she asked tightly.

"He has Madeleine," Gibbs repeated.

It was suddenly as if the two of them were alone in MTAC, and her eyes met his with something unidentifiable in them—he thought it might be stark fear, or desperate denial, but it was gone quickly, and then her mouth was a hard line again and her strong face was an impenetrable mask.

"He will not hurt her, Jethro," she said earnestly. "He will _not_."

"You don't know that," he growled.

She lifted her chin with certainty.

"I know him. He is brutal. He can be ruthless. But Madeleine, he will not harm. He will look at her, and he will see Tali and he _will not touch her_."

Gibbs met Ziva's eyes harshly—and he believed her. He hated Haswari, he had no trust for him, and he believed dully and wholeheartedly that the man was evil—but he believed Ziva when she said that Haswari wouldn't harm a hair on Madeleine's head. Not physically, at least—

"He shot a man in front of her," Gibbs threw out hoarsely.

Ziva lifted her shoulders.

"To Ari, that is not harming her. To a man who saw his mother blown to bits in the refugee camps—witnessing violence is not causing harm."

Gibbs swallowed.

"I have no information for you, Agent Gibbs," Ziva said again. She licked her lips. "What I will do—I will put a leash back on him."

Gibbs glared at her for a silent moment, and then he stepped back from the screen, shrugging his shoulders.

"You do what you want with his _leash_, Ziva," he said curtly, signaling that the techs should start to end the videoconference. "You let a rabid dog on the loose on my turf, and if he so much as gnashes his teeth at me," Gibbs let his words hang, and then delivered a curt blow: "I'll shoot the son of a bitch right between the eyes."

The feed was cut, and he didn't see Ziva's reaction to his promise to kill the man she called brother—and he didn't spare a moment to care.

He knew now that Mossad wasn't in the loop; they weren't in control of Haswari, and that meant he was acting alone—and acting unpredictably without the restraints of state to tame him. Gibbs stormed out of autopsy and down to the bullpen to meet the hostage response team.

Alarms screamed throughout the building as agents were evacuated, and the cavalry was brought in.

* * *

><p>Jenny was busy studying floor plans in Cairo's small imitation of MTAC when Holland came darting in with papers in his hands.<p>

"Did you get that translation I asked for?" she asked immediately. "I can't speak Urdu, and I'm still trying to figure out what—" she paused, suddenly catching sight of his pained face. "What is it?" she asked, changing gears.

"Well, uh," he began, shrugging a little. "I'm not sure," he shoved the papers at her. "This came in from Headquarters."

"Naples?"

"No, Navy Yard headquarters," Holland corrected. "It's a red alert—the original alert came through, followed by a photo and request for intelligence, and then another alert implying intelligence was acquired—"

Jenny held up her hand.

"Slow down," she murmured, shuffling the papers around and looking through them.

She squinted, trying to read the small, faded ink—that _damn_ printer in the office needed ink _again_.

She frowned.

"Holland—" she began.

"There's some sort of situation in D.C.," he supplied quickly. He rubbed his jaw. "The details are vague, but we're being alerted to a hostage situation, somehow connected to the terrorist that office apprehended at the beginning of this week."

"Qassam," Jenny said immediately—it was Jethro's case.

She swallowed and read over the unclear information again. Thank _god_ it was a Thursday and Madeleine wouldn't be at NCIS. Jenny folded her hands, the papers resting against her side. Holland seemed to hesitate, and she looked over at him, eyebrow raised.

"It's just a routine alert," she said calmly. "There's nothing we can do."

"Is there any Intel we can give them on who was behind that planned attack?" Holland inquired. "You were looking into it, weren't you?"

"I was," she agreed. "As a favor to my old partner. I hit a dead end, and then Mossad dropped an iron curtain before my eyes—"

She broke off as a tech came up to her looking wide-eyed.

"I have Mossad on your personal line," the woman said slowly, as if she didn't believe it.

"I don't have time to spare for Mossad," Jenny snapped, still annoyed with the state of their relationship with that stubborn agency.

The tech hesitated, her eyes flicking from Holland to Jenny.

"Yes, the Mossad officer said you'd refuse to speak with her," the woman said slowly. "I'm to tell you it concerns your daughter."

Jenny swore violently, her heart slamming to a stop inside her chest. She ignored the way Holland looked at her suddenly, and she thrust the information in her hands back at him and followed the tech from the room, moving quickly to her office. The woman was quick about pulling up the necessary lines of communication on Jenny's personal plasma set up, and she didn't wait for Ziva to greet her when the young woman's face pixeled in on the screen.

"Does this have anything to do with the hostage situation in D.C.?" she demanded roughly.

Ziva inclined her head.

"It seems Gibbs has, ah, _found_ Haswari," she answered calmly.

Jenny's eyes flashed; she scowled at Ziva and rounded on the tech who still hovered next to her. She started to order a line through to MTAC in D.C., but she realized she'd only hinder their operations if she interfered. She ground her teeth together—thinking quickly—and then she straightened up and snapped her fingers.

"Get me a secure phone line to Abigail Sciuto," she ordered, and then turned her eyes back to Ziva darkly.

"What the _fuck_ is going on, Ziva?"

* * *

><p>"Special Agent Gibbs," he said as introduced himself to the team in the bullpen.<p>

"HRT leader Horowitz. What have you got, Gibbs?"

"A terrorist is holding four of our people hostage in autopsy. One of the hostages is wounded, one is a preschooler who will recognize the captor as a friend." Gibbs stood in front of the screen and went about directing them with information. "We're here, this is autopsy; you have three exits: elevator, staircase, receiving. I have special agents at all three and their frequency is TAC-1."

Horowitz started giving instructions firmly, and Gibbs ordered Agent Balboa to bring the elevator up so the hostage response team could get in there.

"Pacci, DiNozzo, replacements are on the way," he said, turning back to the hostage team leader. "Staircases are by the elevator. Your team there will have to access receiving from the alley."

"Okay, let's hit it gentlemen, move!" Horowitz ordered.

"Hang on a second," Gibbs protested tensely. "Hostages are our people," he said, hesitating a split second before he continued and confessed: "The preschooler is my daughter. I'm in charge here. Understood?"

Horowitz readily agreed, and he was off—in control and ready for orders.

* * *

><p>Abby paced the floor of her lab, drumming her fingers against each other nervously. Her plasma was still fuzzy and covered in glitches and electronic snow; she couldn't run tests until she knew their people were safe, and she couldn't be in the way while the agents worked upstairs. So burdened was she by stress and worry and fear that she was almost relieved when her cell phone went off, providing a distraction.<p>

"Hello?" she answered distractedly, darting into her office and searching for Bert for comfort.

There was a crackling silence on the line.

"Miss Sciuto?"

Abby squeaked in surprise and nearly tumbled over into her desk chair.

"Madeleine's mom?" she answered uncertainly, momentarily forgetting Jenny's name, and cringing that she sounded so childish.

To her complete surprise, Jenny laughed.

"They usually call me Agent Shepard," she remarked steadily. "Though I'm sure Madeleine would prefer if my only job was being her mother."

Abby sat down heavily, abandoning her search for Bert. She hesitated, unsure what to say—and Jenny saved her the trouble.

"What's going on, Abby?"

"I don't think I'm supposed to talk about it, Jenny," Abby answered desperately. "Gibbs told the Director we weren't to contact you."

"Gibbs is an idiot," Jenny stated simply. "I'll skin him alive later. You read me in to the situation."

Abby twirled a pigtail nervously.

"A terrorist took Kate and Ducky and Gerald and Maddie hostage in autopsy. We're not exactly sure what he's trying to do yet, but it has something to do with the terrorist Gibbs shot at the beginning of the week. I really don't know that much," Abby insisted. "I'm sorry. Why didn't you call Gibbs?"

"I assume he's busy," Jenny answered logically, her tone clipped. "I have no intention of putting any more stress on his shoulders."

Abby nodded to herself. She listened to Jenny's silence, and after a moment, Jenny broke it slowly.

"Abby—" she began. "Abby—is Madeleine hurt?"

"No!" Abby cried, letting out a breath of relief that Jenny had asked. "No, no, we saw her on a camera, and she smiled and waved, and Gibbs—Gibbs says she knows the man, or at least, that's what I've heard Morrow say, but really Gibbs isn't being very vocal—but, um, maybe I shouldn't tattle on him, but," Abby paused.

"Yes, Abby?"

"He—he's so scared, Jenny. He's pretending like he's not, but he's so scared—when he found out Madeleine was down there, Tony—uh, his partner, DiNozzo—he almost had to hit Gibbs to get him to do something and I—I've never seen _El Jefe_ dumbstruck before-!"

Jenny interrupted hoarsely, but firmly.

"He'll be okay," she assured Abby. "You do whatever he tells you, Abby. And—ignore him if he's mean to you."

"Gibbs is _never_ mean," Abby said, perking up suddenly and defending her favorite.

Jenny laughed mirthlessly.

"I'd be interested to meet the Gibbs _you_ know," she said wryly.

Abby bit her lip.

"Should I—tell him you called?"

"No," Jenny answered decisively. "Where is he now?"

"He just got hostage response ingratiated to the building. He's in MTAC."

Jenny cleared her throat.

"No, Abby, don't get in the middle of us," she said calmly. "I'll call him."

* * *

><p>Morrow was discussing Haswari's photo with Paula Cassidy when Gibbs came flying back into MTAC.<p>

"The detainee who gave up Qassam might be able to identify him," Paula was saying unhelpfully.

"We don't need him identified," Morrow remarked.

Gibbs broke in, pointing to the photo.

"His name is Ari Haswari, Cassidy," he said coldly.

She looked at him blankly and shrugged—and the agent from Bahrain reappeared on his screen.

"I'm sorry, Director," he apologized quickly. "I was on with Tel Aviv—did Qassam work at Little Creek?"

"He did," Gibbs answered.

"There's our Hamas connection," Bahrain said. "The Israelis are training at Little Creek on Hurricane boats."

Gibbs looked down, quickly trying to process the information. The Israeli Defense Forces were training on American soil—Qassam, from his position at the base, had been intent on executing an attack on them. Where the hell did Haswari fit _in_ to this? If he was covering Qassam's ass, then he was Hamas, pure and simple—but Gibbs knew if he made that accusation it wouldn't fly with Mossad or Jenny; they all trusted Haswari even in the face of his unpredictable brutality.

But—that had to be it didn't it?

Gibbs clenched his teeth together, and looked at Morrow.

"I should have known that, sir," he admitted.

He'd had no _idea_ that there were Israelis at Little Creek—and if he had, he would have unraveled Qassam's goal much quicker.

"See if Tel Aviv can identify his purpose here," Morrow ordered to the man in Bahrain—and Gibbs nearly snorted derisively in his face.

Ziva had just refused help or consultation on the matter; what made Morrow think Tel Aviv would acknowledge Haswari at all?

"Apparently our hostage taker is Hamas," Morrow said, voicing Gibbs' conflicted thoughts. "But what is he after?"

One of the new additions to the team spoke up.

"Negotiator Arkin, Director," she announced herself. "If you open up a phone line to him, I'll find out."

Something clicked in Gibbs' mind.

"I already know, sir," he spoke up. "He's here to retrieve Qassam's body and blood."

"Blood?"

"Hamas doesn't want us to know they had an infected terrorist serving burgers and fries to American and Israeli sailors," Gibbs clarified tensely—_and Mossad sure as hell doesn't want to know their precious Haswari's turned traitor on them all_, he added silently.

"Get me the CDC!" Morrow ordered sharply. "Infected with what?" he asked, panic rising in his tone.

Gibbs turned away, stepping back and taking his phone from his pocket. It had been buzzing incessantly since he walked in, and it was getting on his last nerve—he flipped it open and squinted at the name on the screen.

"Jesus," he muttered, when he saw Jenny's name flashing at him brightly.

Either she was calling because she was frightened, or Ziva had brought her into this. He was betting on the latter, and he didn't have time to play politics and placate Jenny's infuriating need to preserve international cooperation by catering to Ari Haswari's sadism.

Intent on ending this hostage situation immediately and with no more casualties, Gibbs stormed past the Director and thrust his cell phone into Morrow's hands.

"Deal with that," he said tersely, sparing not a thought to the sheer audacity of his actions.

Morrow spun around, looking balefully at the phone he'd just been saddled with, and with a sigh, braced himself to talk to the Assistant Director of Counterterrorism and answered the call.

* * *

><p>"Typhoid, Anthrax—Gibbs, Madeleine's mother called me—Smallpox, it could be any number of diseases—"<p>

"Kate and I have both been exposed—"

DiNozzo broke off and Abby broke off at the same time, and Gibbs whirled on Abby, distracted by what she'd slipped into her rant.

"She called _you_?" he demanded.

DiNozzo perked up, looking extremely alert.

"You _know_ Maddie's _mom_?" he demanded, sounding outraged.

Abby flinched.

"I wasn't supposed to tell you, if she hasn't called you yet, I wanted you to know—"

Gibbs swallowed. He shouldn't have ignored her call if she had called Abby first—that probably meant she wasn't calling for political reasons, she was calling because she was frightened. He felt guilty, but there was nothing he could do now—and he waved Abby off. He shot DiNozzo a glare, and DiNozzo reluctantly dropped it and charged up to the evidence lockers.

"I need all the evidence I signed in this morning, Charlene," he said sharply.

"What?!"

"The evidence I signed in, NOW!" shouted Tony. He turned to Gibbs sharply. "You think we've been exposed?"

Gibbs shook his head.

"If Qassam was infectious, the attack would have been successful," he said. "No need to send a cleaner to keep us from finding out."

"Maybe they wanted to delay our isolating those sailors to induce an epidemic," DiNozzo suggested unhappily.

"That's sick," Abby said—and she sounded almost admiring. "Well, it is!" she defended when Tony glared at her.

Gibbs took the evidence box and dumped it unceremoniously on the floor.

"One of you has to sign for that!" Charlene snapped.

DiNozzo rudely grabbed a permanent marker and scrawled his name on her hand.

"Don't wash it," he said flippantly, turning his attention to Qassam's personal effects.

They scrambled around, searching through the items.

"Qassam would not have infected himself until he was on the base. He would have carried the virus in something that's here," Gibbs said curtly.

"How long was slinging burgers?"

"Eight days."

"That's good news," Abby said. "Usually it takes longer than that to become infectious."

"Usually?" DiNozzo asked distastefully.

"I'm gonna start testing," Abby said firmly, gathering things in her hands—she was relieved to have something to focus on to take her mind off of her fear.

"Not until we get duplicates to give him!" Gibbs protested roughly. "We're not giving him the virus _back_!"

Abby looked through the items.

"Well, the pharmacy will have the aspirin, the nasal spray, the breath freshener—and the nearest place to get the tea," Abby pulled out her palm pilot, "would be the Tea Peddler. Two-seven-eight-eight Connecticut Avenue. Now can I get started?"

Abby snatched everything up and was off in a flash, bouncing at the elevator with eagerness and determination—and Gibbs was sitting stunned, holding a notepad in his hand.

"How long do you think it would have taken me to find the nearest tea shop?" he asked in a hollow voice—he was asking himself if he'd been able to do it in time, before Haswari got frustrated—before Madeleine and Gerald and the others were put in even more danger.

DiNozzo tried to be supportive.

"About an hour sooner than me?"

* * *

><p>Madeleine was getting tired of Ari's game. She was hungry and thirsty and she wanted to go back upstairs where the lights were on and Daddy would let her sit behind his desk and colour pictures until it was time to go home. Seeing Ari again hadn't been as fun as she thought, and she didn't understand why. She felt like she was going to start crying, but that wouldn't do any good—Ducky was too busy to hold her, and Ari wouldn't let Kate have her—and besides, what was the point in crying if there was no Daddy or Mama to make it better?<p>

She stuck with singing to herself softly and clinging to Ari for comfort—at least he was talking to her in Hebrew, and she liked Hebrew. She missed talking it with Tali and Ziva and the other children she'd known in Israel. It was pretty and had prettier nursery songs than English.

"Ari," she muttered, tilting her head up. "Put me down."

"No," he answered mildly. "You will hurt yourself."

"I shall kick you."

"You shall not," he chided softly.

Annoyed that her threat had been rebuffed, Madeleine switched to English. She swiveled around and looked at Kate.

"I want him to stop touching me!" she whined. "Kate, make him let go. Come get me. Kate!" she demanded.

Kate stepped forward.

"You move for this child, and I will injure Gerald again," Ari said simply, showing no sign that Madeleine's protests swayed him in any way. Kate narrowed her eyes at him, and he glared at her lightly.

"Let me take her," Kate demanded.

Ari clicked his tongue.

"So impolite."

Kate grit her teeth.

"Please, let me taker her," she amended insincerely.

"You are easier to control when you fear what I will do with her," Ari answered vaguely, his eyes glittering in the dim light. He tilted his head and looked at Madeleine. "I am rather fond of her," he remarked.

"She wants _me_!" Kate burst out. "She's _scared_. If you're fond of her, let her _go_!"

Ari said nothing.

"She's just a little girl!" Kate shouted.

"Kate, please!" Ducky broke in tensely, lest Ari be provoked to making good on his promise to shoot Gerald again—or worse, harm Madeleine.

"Ah," Ari remarked coolly. "Indeed she is just a little girl—and she is at the ripest age to be saved from your Western hypocrisy."

"You want to make a political statement?" shrieked Kate irately.

"A philosophical observation, rather," Ari growled—and whatever else he might have said was cut off by Madeleine leaning forward and promptly sinking her teeth into his shoulder. She clamped her jaw down hard, and he frowned, unfazed, and pushed her head away from him in a way that was firm but not violent.

"If you do not behave, little Madeleine Jane, I shall shoot your Aba dead the moment he walks through those doors," Ari threatened calmly.

Madeleine stared at him, her teeth throbbing from biting the bigger man so hard.

It confused her that—that her Ari had threatened to hurt Daddy—but—but she understood what _dead_ meant, and she sat staring at her once trusted babysitter with stark fear all over her small face—and then she let out am angry, piercing scream.

* * *

><p>The atmosphere was tense in MTAC as the terrorist's voice echoed through the speakers.<p>

"I regrettably had to demonstrate the consequence of not obeying my orders. The man I shot is in danger of losing his arm."

Negotiator Arkin jumped right in.

"Well then it's important you let us—"

"When all evidence collected from Qassam's room is in my hands you may have the wounded man."

"I'll need approval from the NCIS Director before I can—"

"He is standing right next to you. Nod yes to the negotiator, Director Morrow."

Morrow pulled his eyes away from the picture of Ari Haswari on the screen and curtly nodded, frustration coursing through him.

"You have a deal," Arkin admitted reluctantly. "Now can we talk about releasing—"

"You have ten minutes."

"No—we need more—"

Haswari hung up without another word, and Arkin's annoyance was written all over her face. She looked at Morrow and he grit his teeth, eyes back on the photo. Shepard had next to no information about what was going on—save for her adamant assertion that Haswari was not Hamas. Morrow didn't think Shepard would favor protecting Mossad over NCIS, so he had to assume that she had been told nothing other than that.

He was going to have to send an agent down there to get his people, and he knew without a doubt who was going to volunteer for that. It irked him that Shepard and Gibbs' fates were so intricately linked through that child, for he knew that if something went wrong and Madeleine was killed, he was going to lose two of his best people.

* * *

><p>Seething with fury, Kate prowled around autopsy as Ducky bundled Qassam up into a body bag. She kept her eyes on Ari, making sure she knew where he was and what he was doing—and also keeping tabs on everything going on around her. Madeleine had started crying not long ago, right after she'd broken into English.<p>

Kate didn't know what Ari had said to her to set her off, but it had obviously frightened the little girl, and listening to her whimper and sob was painful—particularly when Kate was powerless to tend to her.

Kate wandered past the table of tools they had used to help Gerald, and she picked up a scalpel almost without thinking.

Kate!" Ducky hissed violently. "No!" he shook his head.

She swallowed. She didn't know what she was going to do with it. Ari was still holding Madeleine almost as if she were a shield, and even though Kate trusted herself to easily stab him below the ribs without touching Madeleine. She hesitated to bring any more psychological harm to the child. After all, Madeleine had some kind of bond with this man, and regardless of what was happening now, if he were killed while holding her, it could spell disaster in so many ways.

"He wants you to try," Ducky warned sagely.

Kate looked over at the terrorist. He turned and looked at her, walking towards her with a catlike grin. She held up the scalpel, steeling herself.

"Doctor Mallard thinks that you were daring me to pick up this knife."

"The proper term is a dissecting tool," Ari drawled.

Madeleine shifted and looked at Kate, her eyes red and raw.

"You didn't answer my question! You just wanted another excuse to shoot Gerald, didn't you?"

Ari laughed, and stroked Madeleine's hair. Kate lunged forward, reaching for Madeleine with one hand—and Madeleine immediately turned and tried to jump to Kate—but Ari was faster, and better trained. He managed to keep a tight hold of Madeleine—which actually kept her safer than letting her fall—and twisted Kate's arm violently behind her back until it hurt and she nearly screamed at the pain.

He bound her tightly against him. Madeleine sobbed and buried her face in his shirt, covering her ears.

"I have no intention of shooting Gerald again, Caitlyn," he said, and then lowered his voice, his lips close to her ear. "I did, however, want to see if I was right about you."

"Next time I'll be quicker," she choked.

"Oh don't you wonder why you weren't now?" he taunted.

"You have a baby in your arms!" she hissed defensively.

"Uh," Ducky interrupted heavily. "Could you give me a go?"

Ari pushed Kate away form him and strolled backwards, the scalpel now in his hands.

"I think not, Doctor," he drawled coolly. "You would kill me without hesitation. I do, however, think you would regret it," he added. "Now. We have work to do," he went on, and kissed Madeline's head gently. "If we are all to survive this day."

* * *

><p>Abby confirmed that the disease was a variant of smallpox—not a necessarily one hundred percent fatal strain of smallpox, but daunting all the same. The virus had been contained in the canister of nasal spray found in Qassam's apartment.<p>

"That's good work, Abby," Gibbs said proudly, just as MTAC's line rang again, and Negotiator Arkin answered.

"Hello? I don't know your name!"

"Is Special Agent Gibbs there?" Haswari's cool voice floated through the speakers, and Gibbs turned—it was about time Haswari ask for him by name.

"I don't know who that is," Arkin tried calmly, but Gibbs cut her off sharply.

"I'm here," he growled.

"I thought you might be," Haswari answered smugly.

Before Haswari could get another word out, Gibbs went on aggressively.

"Talked to your sister," he said coldly. "Boy, was she pissed to hear you'd turned up here."

Haswari said nothing, and Gibbs kept talking.

"Madeleine?" he called calmly.

"She cannot answer you, Agent Gibbs."

Even though the words struck him with terror, Gibbs kept his composure.

"Why's that, Ari?"

Haswari chuckled. He didn't answer.

"Perhaps you would like to see her," he said instead. "You've seen me on video. Now it's time I see you."

"Looking forward to it," Gibbs said dryly.

"Come alone. Unarmed—"

"No," Gibbs interrupted, to the chagrin of the negotiator and the Director.

"No?" Haswari's repetition of the word was bemused.

"You let me hear Madeleine before I agree to your demands."

Haswari chuckled again.

"I will bargain," he said slowly. "You may hear Caitlin tell you if Madeleine is safe."

There were whispers, scuffling, and then Kate cleared her throat.

"Gibbs? Maddie's okay. She can't answer, this bastard told her he'd kill—"

The sound of a harsh slap echoed through MTAC, and Kate cried out, effectively silenced. Gibbs swallowed hard—so Madeleine had been frightened into silence. Still—he had no way of knowing if Kate was telling the truth in saying she was safe, or if Kate was somehow being blackmailed to hide the real truth from him.

He had no time to waste negotiating and taking his time. It was better he get down there and get them _out_.

"Satisfied?" Haswari asked.

"Yeah," Gibbs grunted.

"Come alone and unarmed," Haswari repeated. "Don't forget to bring Qassam's things."

The line went dead, and Gibbs turned to look at Morrow.

He was going to get his girl.

* * *

><p>Ari leaned languidly on the autopsy table as he waited for Gibbs to show up with the effects he needed. He tilted his head, staring at little Madeleine with mild curiosity. She had stopped sniveling, and she had obediently remained silent while he talked to her massive bastard of a father. It seemed that now she was simply irate with him, and she looked at him as if he had broken her favorite toy.<p>

She looked at him, in fact, very much like both Tali and Ziva had when they were young and he had won games of Hide and Seek—for he had always won the games of Hide and Seek.

He lifted his brows.

"Your Aba is on his way down," he remarked blandly.

Madeleine's lips puckered. She was obviously still wondering where the others had gone—Ari had taped their mouths and shoved them into the freezer. It would be easier this way. Madeleine, he kept out because he needed her to keep Gibbs in check—and he had no real intention of harming the child. He couldn't really, not when she had meant so very much to sweet Tali.

He had known Madeleine as an infant, and he had known her growing up, and though he was cold and unloving and unfeeling—or so they all said about him—he was not yet completely consumed with brutal blood thirst. And while Madeleine remained a truly innocent child, she was his last link to hope and to Tali—with Tali had died the last light in Ziva, and so Ziva was no longer Ari's anchor to Israel, but Madeleine provided some glimmer of salvation that maybe, perhaps, he wanted to reach.

Children were so good, so unmarred by the injustice and prejudice in the world. He could place Madeleine in a room with a Palestinian child and an Israeli child, and the three would play together, unaware of the political and historical turmoil that would forever divide their parents. He had no doubt that under her parents' tutelage, Madeleine would grow up to bear mistrust towards Islam, bred in the decadence and safety of the gluttonous, imperialist West, but while she was little, and while she was untouched, Ari Haswari could remain on the precipice of betrayal.

"Ari," Madeleine whispered. "Ari, you are mean to my friends," she whimpered.

He smiled wanly.

He had known he would run into trouble when he found it was going to be necessary to infiltrate NCIS. Caitlin Todd had provided the complication; Madeleine had provided some light in the dark deed. Ari was hovering on the line between radical terrorism and loyalty to the organization he was bred to be a mole for; he was not yet swallowed by the organizations he was supposed to only infiltrate, but it would take only the slightest provocation for him to turn and finally bring that maniac Eli David to his knees.

"Perhaps your friends were mean to me, little one," Ari remarked mildly. "They did not give me a chance, you see."

Madeleine looked at him, solemn and confused.

"You can't be mean just 'cause they are," she said slowly. "Like I can't hit someone just because another kid hit someone."

Ari's lips quirked up in a grin. Ah, the old American adage—one cannot jump off a bridge simply because they are told to, or—something like that? Because everyone else is doing so? Tali would know better than he would.

"Ari," she said again. "Please don't hurt Aba."

"You must follow my instructions perfectly," Ari said firmly.

Madeleine bit her lip, her face pale.

"Tali would not hurt my Aba," she whimpered.

Haswari's eyes were sad, and he shrugged.

"Tali was the best of us," he said in a low voice. "And Tali is dead."

* * *

><p>DiNozzo came charging off the elevator.<p>

"I got it all bagged and tagged, Boss!" he announced, flinging the fake effects around in his hands. "Aspirin, breath freshener, nasal spray," he dumped the bag onto Gibbs' desk, "tea. Qassam drank a wimpy Darjeeling from Western Kashmir," DiNozzo babbled. "I prefer the darker more robust tea from Northern East India where they actually take the leaf and they rake it with a small—"

"Tony," Gibbs interrupted, busy in the process of stowing away his gun and getting his things together. "Nervous?"

"Yeah, I don't like the idea of you going down there unarmed and solo," DiNozzo said frankly.

"No choice," Gibbs muttered. "Besides, I need you outside receiving." Gibbs spoke into his walkie-talkie: "Team One, Gibbs. Elevator to level three," he requested.

"By the time we get down to receiving, it'll be over," DiNozzo protested.

"This guy's not a suicide bomber," Gibbs growled confidently—and that, he was sure of. Haswari was much too fond of his own prowess for that sort of thing. "He has an escape plan. Maybe to get out the same way he got in."

Gibbs wasn't planning on letting that happen.

DiNozzo followed him to the elevator.

"Jesus, Gibbs, what's going on here?" he asked roughly. "You call up Mossad when you see this guy's face, you tell me Madeleine thinks of the guy as a friend—what the hell?" Tony asked helplessly.

Gibbs didn't answer for a moment. Instead, he said firmly:

"I want someone I know down at receiving."

"That's the same as saying someone you trust," DiNozzo noted proudly. "Someone you can depend on," he added.

The elevator doors opened, and Abby hopped out.

"I tested everything! The nasal spray was the only viral container," she said eagerly.

"Thanks, Abs," he said calmly.

"Gibbs," she said, clasping her hands together. "Madeleine's going to be okay. You're gonna get her and—well everyone will be okay," she said, as if speaking to herself. "Okay?"

He smiled at her calmly.

"Your best man?" Tony piped up, still caught up in forcing Gibbs to admit he needed him.

The elevator doors slid closed, and Gibbs laughed in disbelief. DiNozzo frowned and turned to Abby.

"I don't think best man was the best thing to say to someone who's been married twice," he muttered. "And, er, accidentally knocked up a girl when he was like, forty. Or something?" he added, fishing for information from Abby.

She ignored the prod and raised her brows.

"You worried?" she asked.

"Me? Ahh. Naahh," he said blowing air through his lips.

"Yeah," she said, swinging her head. "Me too."

They stood silently at the elevator, waiting for it to come back and take Tony to receiving—and while they waited he threw caution to the wind and turned to her.

"Abby, I might die, so—what can you tell me about Madeleine's mom?"

* * *

><p>Autopsy was completely dark when Gibbs walked through the doors—completely dark and utterly silent. The doors closed with a hiss behind him, and he let his eyes adjust, looking around in the faint, unhelpful blue glow.<p>

"You look older," Haswari remarked from the darkness.

A dark figure moved into one of the brighter circles of blue light, and Gibbs saw the unmistakable stance of a gun being pointed at him—with one hand. He noticed quickly, because—goddamnit, Ari was still holding Madeleine.

"Where are the other hostages?" Gibbs asked, his eyes on Madeleine.

Haswari ignored him.

"Ahuva," Ari said silkily, and Gibbs cringed to hear him call her Jenny's nickname. "Tell Aba what he is to do."

"Box on the floor," Madeleine piped up in a small, obedient voice. "Hands on top of your head."

"Then you turn around," Haswari finished, "and walk back to the door."

"Not without Gerald," Gibbs said simply, walking forward. "Not without Madeleine."

"Daddy," Madeleine whimpered. "Hands on head or your dead," she implored shakily, and it was as if Haswari had taught her that like it was some kind of nursery rhyme. Gibbs was suddenly so mad he could barely refrain from charging across the room and strangling Haswari with his bare hands.

"You won't leave her at all unless you put the box on the floor, your hands on your head—"

"Turn around and walk back to the door," Gibbs finished, repeating the instructions. "Old doesn't mean deaf," he said wryly.

Haswari tilted his head in the shadows.

"Do not be difficult, Agent Gibbs," he advised mildly. "I would dislike shooting you in front of your daughter."

Madeleine whimpered again.

Gibbs did all he could to concentrate on anything but the sounds of her distress. He set the box on a counter next to him and turned to face the door, his hands on the back of his head.

"You want out of here alive?" he asked Haswari.

"I'm sure Gerald does," Haswari answered coolly.

"I think you do, too," Gibbs retorted.

He heard Haswari prowling around behind him. There was some rustling around, and then Haswari was speaking Hebrew. Gibbs heard small, light footsteps approaching him. Madeleine brushed his leg, and she jumped up; he saw her head moving from the corner of his eye.

"I'm too little, Ari!" she announced, panic exploding in her tone. "I can't reach it!"

Gibbs realized Haswari was using Madeleine to get the evidence for him. He moved his hand, intent on reaching down and pulling her in front of him so she was shielded—Ari cocked the gun.

"Touch her and I will shoot you."

"Very slowly," Gibbs said tensely, "I'm going to reach into this box and take out of here, with two fingers, exactly what you want."

"Excellent," Haswari drawled. "Pass the item to Madeleine, and send her back to me."

Gibbs ignored Haswari—he'd be damned if he was letting Madeleine run back over there, and from the way she was grabbing his leg, he doubted she'd listen to him if he told her to. She was too scared at this point, and too relieved to finally be near Daddy again, to remember that Haswari had threatened to kill him—she was under too much stress for a four-year-old recovering from strep throat to take.

Gibbs opened the bag instead; he pulled out the nasal spray. He glanced over his shoulder at Haswari, and then pointedly lifted the canister to his nose and snorted the contents into his blood stream.

He turned around quickly, and in one move, had Madeleine standing behind him, shielded by his knees.

"Surprise," he mocked dully. "You failed. Mission over. The real smallpox virus is on its way to the CDC," Gibbs threw the nasal spray violently into the box and put his hands behind his back, wiggling them until Madeleine grabbed them and held on tight, burying her face in his palms.

"Daddy," she moaned. "Daddy I want to go home."

"You want to talk about whether you live or die?" Gibbs asked Haswari.

"How far were you from Qassam when you shot him?" Haswari asked.

Gibbs was taken aback by the change of course, but he allowed it—perhaps Haswari was stalling for time. He had relaxed his weapon, and he hadn't made good on his promise to shoot Gibbs if he touched Madeleine.

"I don't know," Gibbs growled.

"You measured it for your incident report."

"Thirty-seven feet and a few inches, give or take," Gibbs said.

"Ah," Haswari sighed. "You're a very good shot."

"I would love to demonstrate."

Haswari laughed outright.

"Funny," he remarked. "Special Agent Todd said the same thing."

"Where is she?" Gibbs demanded quietly. "And the doctor?"

"Would you truly like to demonstrate?" Haswari provoked.

"Yeah," Gibbs answered curtly.

He was reminded of a time in Tel Aviv when he had held Ari around the neck, ready to break it, and Ari had shoved his pistol into Gibbs' leg—and Madeleine looking on. It felt like some sick type of foreshadowing on the universe's part.

Gibbs clenched his jaw tightly.

He was suddenly relieved it was dark—Madeleine wouldn't be able to see him shoot Haswari.

Haswari slid something across the floor to Gibbs' feet.

"Give that to your father, Madeleine," he said coolly—and for some reason, Madeleine did so before Gibbs could stop her.

She scrambled around him and picked up the clip.

"Agent Todd's Sig Saur is in the box to your left," Haswari announced. "Madeleine has the clip. Untampered, and all live rounds."

Gibbs crouched swiftly to take the clip, and he held his hand low in the blow light by the door, touching Madeleine's nose to direct her to what he was signing quickly with his fingers. She nodded her head, and when he stood up and turned towards the box with Kate's gun in it, he heard her run away as fast as she could into the darkness.

Haswari made no move to stop her—and then Gibbs knew Ziva had been right; physically, Haswari wouldn't hurt Madeleine.

"Pick it up," Haswari crooned, watching Gibbs eye the gun.

Gibbs slammed the clip into Kate's Sig, holding it for a moment to get a feel for it in his palm.

"Why?" he asked.

Haswari was silent for a split second.

"Why not?" he drawled wildly.

Gibbs swung around, narrowed his eyes, and took aim—he fired a quick succession of shots to double tap Haswari's chest, and he saw the man opposite him drop like a rock to the floor right as a searing, brutal pain ripped through his shoulder and knocked him off his own feet onto his back.

Smoke filled the room and hostage response stormed in; amidst the thundering of boots, the clinking of weaponry, and the shouts of the agents, he heard Madeleine screaming for him.

* * *

><p>"Boss. Boss?"<p>

Gibbs heard DiNozzo first, and then gradually the other sounds filled back in—most notably, Madeleine's loud, hysterical sobbing. He hadn't heard her crying like that since she was a baby or—well, since Tel Aviv.

He blinked in the bright fluorescent lights.

"Boss, don't try to sit up, _don't_—"

Gibbs ignored the order, and DiNozzo gave him an annoyed look. He groaned, a throb of pain shooting through him. DiNozzo was pressing a towel to his shoulder, stemming the blood flow from the gunshot wound.

"EMTs will be here in a minute," DiNozzo said, kneeling next to him and giving him his arm for support. "It's a through and through. Nothing vital."

"Madeleine?" he demanded hoarsely.

"She's okay," DiNozzo said. "She's just scared. She's not hurt."

"You sure?" Gibbs growled.

"She—yeah, Gibbs," DiNozzo answered. He shrugged. "I, uh…I checked on her first," he admitted sheepishly.

He had let Gibbs lie there on the floor passed out for a minute while he made sure Madeleine was only screaming because she was terrified and nothing else.

Gibbs nodded and gave Tony a friendly punch in the shoulder.

"Best man," he ground out pointedly. "Good," he muttered, and then looked across the room, squinting. "I get him?" he asked.

"Yeah," Tony said tiredly. "You got him."

The paramedics arrived; some darted to Gerald, and another crouched down and forced an oxygen mask in Gibbs's face. Abby darted by, babbling into a cell phone—Gibbs' brow furrowed as he watched her storm across autopsy. He was trying to get up, to refuse oxygen and get to Madeleine—but suddenly, Madeleine stopped making noise; her sobbing faded to hiccups.

"You were right, Boss," DiNozzo was saying. "He had an accomplice in HRT gear inside the receiving elevator. Shot both the HRT guys before I nailed him. One of 'em's dead; the other one's gonna make it."

"Where are Kate and Ducky?" Gibbs asked, after yanking the oxygen away from his face.

DiNozzo hoisted Gibbs up.

"Right here," he said, as Kate walked past breathlessly. Ducky was tending to Madeleine helpfully. "He had them in the body cooler," DiNozzo added.

"There, there," he heard Ducky say quietly.

Gibbs craned his neck to look—they were keeping Madeleine's attention off of him. He wanted to see her, to tell her everything was all right now, but until she calmed down he knew it was important to make sure she didn't see the blood on him. Abby noticed him looking and shuffled over.

"I—I called—I," she stammered, obviously scared. She swallowed hard, struggling with her fear of autopsy. "I called her mom," she told Gibbs weakly. "She's—she's on the phone with Madeleine, she's telling her it's all okay."

Gibbs could have kissed Abby's feet for such foresight—but all he could do was smile. The hostage response team was pulling his attention to the body on the floor.

"How'd you get him, Gibbs?" one of them asked incredulously.

Gibbs looked down at the supposed body of Ari Haswari—and he knew immediately that it wasn't him. Carelessly, he kicked the lifeless carcass over and exposed an unfamiliar face, realizing with a hollow, sinking feeling that Haswari had gotten out somehow—was loose to plague them again.

"I didn't," he admitted grudgingly.

* * *

><p>"You were very brave, darling. It's okay. It's okay, ahuva, I am here."<p>

Jenny thought it brilliant that Abby Sciuto had called and asked her to be ready to comfort Madeleine over the phone. It provided a happy distraction for the little girl and let Jenny know that she was safe and sound. Abby had spared a moment to let Jenny know that Jethro had been shot, but it was a clean wound—and as Madeleine calmed down with Jenny's soothing in her ear, Jenny added another reason to the growing list that detailed why she was eager to meet the whimsical Abby.

Madeleine was confused and frightened and couldn't comprehend what was happening.

"Ima!" she wailed softly. "Ima, you come now! You come get me! Ima!" she squealed hoarsely.

"Oh, honey," Jenny sighed, curled up on the floor in her office, her back against the door. "Oh, honey, you know I can't do that. I'm so far away," she said softly. "Listen to me, baby, just listen to me. You're all right now. You're safe. Daddy made sure you were safe."

Madeleine burst into fresh sobs, hiccupping pitifully.

"Da-Da-Daddy!" she sobbed unhappily. "Daddy is hurt. Mommy. Mommy, Ari hurt Daddy!" she cried uncertainly.

"I know," Jenny murmured. "I know, Madeleine. Take deep breaths, sweetie, it's all okay now. It's all okay," she kept repeating the soothing words, clinging to them herself.

She felt isolated, locked in her office in Cairo, desperately trying to be involved in what was going on in D.C. Her head was still spinning from the events—Cairo didn't even have a full report of what had happened; Jenny had gone from talking to Ziva and Abby, to complete communication silence, to a feverish call from Abby that had told her in one breath that Jethro was hurt but Madeleine was untouched.

"Mommy," Madeleine pleaded. "Mommy, if Aba dies, you will come get me?" she asked, fear in every syllable. "I need you Ima! I need you, and Aba can't die!"

Jenny's heart rose in her throat.

"Oh honey," she said firmly. "Madeleine, sweetheart, your father is not going to die. He's going to be fine. I promise you, Madeleine," she insisted—and she felt confident promising it; Jethro had survived much worse. "Daddy will be okay. He just needs you to take care of him, okay? Can you do that for me?"

Madeleine whimpered.

"Madeleine, you have to take care of Daddy for me," Jenny said, getting an idea to ease Madeleine's heartache. "You have to be brave some more and make sure Daddy is good and takes his medicine and isn't too mean to his friends."

"I take care of Daddy?" Madeleine asked uncertainly.

"Mmmhmm," Jenny murmured. "Just like Daddy took care of you when you had your surgery and when you're sick. I can't be there to help him. Can you do that, ahuva?"

"Like you?" Madeleine perked up. "I shall be a big girl like you?"

"Yes," Jenny agreed encouragingly. She could tell Madeleine was calming down even more, hearkening to the idea. "You'll be just like me, except sweeter, and much better at it, I'm sure," she teased lightly. "You be brave and take care of Daddy, and I promise he will get better. And he won't let _anyone_ scare you again."

"I'm not scared," Madeleine burst out tensely. "I'm not! I'm not a baby!"

"I know," Jenny said softly.

She didn't need to be reminded again that her _baby_ was growing up on a different continent.

"I'm _not_ scared of Ari," snapped Madeleine uncertainly. "Mommy, Eli needs to spank him! Eli must give him a time out!" she insisted viciously.

Jenny laughed breathlessly.

"You're very right," she agreed. "He _does_ need a time out."

Madeleine fell silent, and Jenny could hear her breathing on the line.

"Madeleine?" she ventured. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," Madeleine answered in a small voice. "Ducky wants the phone," she admitted.

"Let Ducky have the phone," Jenny coaxed gently.

A moment later, the good doctor was greeting her.

"How is she really, Ducky?" Jenny asked earnestly. "And how are you?"

"She's shaken up. I've taken her pulse a few times, and it seems you've adequately calmed her down. She's—well, they've about got Jethro cleaned up, so she'll see him in a moment," Ducky said. He sighed. "I'm quite all right, Jennifer. I can't say the same for my assistant."

"I'm sorry," Jenny sympathized. "I can't believe this," she muttered, half-angry—with whom, she didn't know. "Is Jethro-?" she broke off.

"He really is fine," Ducky supplied easily. "He will not sit still for the paramedics."

"That's great!" Jenny exclaimed breathlessly. She laughed nervously. She knew Ducky must think her crazy, but she didn't care—it was wonderful to hear Jethro was refusing treatment; if he had enough strength to do that, then she was sure he was perfectly okay.

"Daddy!" Madeleine exclaimed clearly in the background, and Jenny brightened in relief at the sound of Jethro's gruff voice, muffled in the background.

"Is that Jen?" she heard him ask.

"Jennifer, do you want—"

"No," Jenny said hurriedly. "No, Ducky—I can't right now. I'll call him later. Tell him I'll call him later. Tell—well," Jenny paused. "You know, tell Madeleine I love her."

Jenny waited until she'd heard Ducky's promise to do so, and then she hung up. She pressed her cell phone against her forehead and tucked her head into her knees, taking deep, shaky breaths. She hadn't realized how affected she had been by the day's events until Abby had given Madeleine the phone and she'd heard how terrified her daughter was. She was cut off from her family, flying blind when it came to intelligence—and what the hell Ari Haswari was doing using her child as a human shield in D.C.—and on top of that, she was tired; she was always tired these days.

She desperately wished she could pick up and fly to D.C.—right now—so much like Jethro had when Madeleine had needed him. It wasn't feasible—she couldn't rightly abandon her team when she had decisions to make and things to lead—but then, this was her child, her scared, traumatized, worried baby girl—

Dammit, Jethro was so much better at this. He didn't give a damn about the repercussions of his career choices. Morrow had threatened to suspend him when he had asked to leave to be there for Madeleine's appendix crisis, and Gibbs had gone anyway—taken the suspension and chosen family over career.

And Jenny—Jenny was sitting on the floor of her office, listing all the reasons why she couldn't do the very same thing.

She lifted her head and let it fall back against the door, clenching her back teeth together. In a flurry of sudden frustration and pain, she threw her cell phone across the room and gloried in the shattering noise it made against her desk—and then she promptly burst into tears.

* * *

><p>Gibbs was so exhausted from the strain of the day and so amused by his daughter's earnest attempts to play doctor that he didn't even protest when she leaned into his injured shoulder as she took his temperature with her hand.<p>

"Daddy," she said matter-of-factly. "You have no fever. That is good," she decided, leaning back and looking at him squarely in the face. She was perched on his thighs, her bony knees digging into him uncomfortably—but he didn't care, because she was acting so cute he almost didn't know what to do with himself.

He leaned back, shifting his shoulder and wincing as he adjusted the sling.

"Daddy? It is hurting very much?" Madeleine asked, concerned.

He shook his head.

"It doesn't hurt _much_," he answered, and pretended to sigh heavily. "It might feel better if you gave me a hug."

Madeleine giggled and crashed forward into his chest, slipping her arms around his neck and squeezing gently. She kissed his cheek and rested her head on his shoulder, reaching out to touch the edge of his sling.

"You look dashing, Aba," she snickered.

Gibbs rolled his eyes. Abby had spent half the time at the hospital teaching Madeleine to tell Gibbs how handsome and roguish and chivalrous he looked with his sling. Madeleine had a slew of trouble pronouncing the latter two, so Abby had taught her _dashing_ instead.

"You want some juice?" Madeleine asked, popping her head up.

He laughed.

"Emmy, I don't want juice," he said. She frowned at him, and he touched her nose lightly. "You knock off the nurse act," he said, pretending to be stern. "I'm the grown-up here. I do the taking care of."

"I'm a doctor, not a nurse," she protested sassily. "Girls are better at doctoring, Daddy, girls are smarter," she informed him. "Also, Mommy says I take care of you."

"Well," Gibbs retorted, arching his eyebrows. "Maybe Mommy should march her bossy butt over here and say that to my face," he teased.

Madeleine glared at him in an adorable cute, mocking little way.

"You will listen to my mama," she informed him seriously. "She is right."

"I'm older than her," Gibbs protested. "Older means smarter."

Madeleine sighed heavily, clicking her tongue in an imitation of Kate getting on to Tony.

"No, Daddy," she said seriously. "_Mommy_ means smarter."

Gibbs raised his eyes to the ceiling warily. He couldn't possibly _literally_ be subject to Jen's rule via four-year-old—could he?

"Besides," Madeleine piped up, giving him what could only be described as a sly look, "you have only one arm to use so I win the tickle fights!"

She attacked his ribs with her little hands. Naturally, her meek offensive had no effect on him whatsoever, and so he was forced to fake it, and pretend he was being positively tortured by her refusal to stop the tickling. He finally begged for mercy, and Madeleine tumbled off of his lap and stretched out on the couch, looking like the cat who had caught the canary. He smiled at her, grateful that this night was turning out to be somewhat normal.

It was shocking—after the harrowing day they had. Madeleine had bucked up surprisingly quickly even while they were at the hospital, and Gibbs was sure it had something to do with the fact that Abby had gotten Jen on the line so quickly. It had to have given Madeleine a sense of solidarity, and the feel that both of her parents were there when she needed them—and for that, Gibbs was endlessly thankful.

"Hey," Madeleine said, nudging his leg with her foot. "Hey."

"Hay is for horses," he retorted.

She crinkled her nose.

"Do you and Mommy have tickle fights?" Madeleine asked curiously.

"Nope," Gibbs answered. "Nope, Mommy _hates_ being tickled. She bites," he said, and then clicked his teeth together and pretended to shiver in fear. Madeleine giggled and raised her eyebrows at him.

"_Emily's_ Mommy and Daddy have tickle fights," she informed him primly.

Gibbs made a face. Not that he would enlighten his daughter, but he happened to know for a fact that Diane absolutely did not put up with tickling—so hearing that it was a routine thing in the Fornell household was _shocking_.

"In their bedroom," Madeleine went on matter-of-factly.

Gibbs stopped making a face.

"Um," he said. "What?"

"_That_ is where they tickle each other."

Oh. _Oh_.

Gibbs changed the subject immediately.

"Did you have a good talk with your mother today?" he asked, a little loudly.

Madeleine's attention was immediately diverted.

"Ken, ken, ken!" she exclaimed earnestly, the Hebrew bursting out—it was a reminder of the events of the day, the frequent reversion to Hebrew. She had been speaking it so rapidly and fluently with Haswari that it seemed to be creeping back into her casual repertoire.

Gibbs shoved away thoughts of Haswari. He was trying not to think of him right now—not while Madeleine was in a good mood, and he was doing his best to make things comfortable for her. She hadn't asked much about what happened today, and he wasn't sure he should bring it up and upset her until she was ready to talk. He wasn't even sure—if she really knew who had been a bad guy. She was certainly too young to process the details of _why_ what had happened had happened.

"Ima is going to tell Ari's Aba to put him in a big time out," Madeleine said snootily, turning up her nose. "He shall stay there until he is ready to say sorry," she added, reciting the usual words children were given when they misbehaved.

Gibbs smiled tightly. He remained silent and shifted again, trying to get comfortable. His wound wasn't paining him much; it was throbbing dully now that the pain medication had worn off. He didn't want to take anymore, though. He didn't feel he could adequately take care of Madeleine if his head was fuzzy with drugs.

He glanced over at Madeleine and noticed her eyes were drooping.

"Emmy," he said softly. "You ready for bed?"

"No."

He laughed.

"C'mon," he said, standing up and stretching his stiff muscles. He leaned over and tapped her knee coaxingly. "I can't carry you for a while, honey," he said apologetically.

She rubbed her eyes and looked up at him. She looked determined.

"Don't have to," she said, standing up and reaching for his hand. "I must carry you!"

Gibbs squeezed her hand as he started to lead her towards her bedroom.

"I'm too big for you," he said solemnly.

"I shall pretend," she answered. "Ima says I should take care of you," she added earnestly.

She yawned, and Gibbs smiled. He sat on the edge of her bed while she brushed her teeth, and when she scampered back in and changed into her pajamas, he was waiting with her favorite book—because he was resolved to stay until she was soundly asleep, and maybe a little longer, if that convinced him that she really was safe and whole.

He took his customary place next to her and let her snuggle into his side—which she did gently so as not to hurt his arm. She turned her head and stared at the sling, and then her eyes roamed over the green hospital scrub shirt he was still wearing, and she slouched, curling into him a little more fiercely.

"Emmy?" he asked quietly. He pushed her hair back. "Emmy, are you okay?"

She made a strangled noise. He pushed the book away, a hollow feeling spreading through him—so here it was, the weight of the day crashing down on her, and she was only four years old. He braced himself for the pain and pulled her fully onto his lap, holding her almost like she was a baby again.

"You know you're safe now, Madeleine," he promised, raising his eyebrows.

She looked uncertain.

"Ari made the safe sign," she said, and lifted her hand and showed him. She said the word, and her words shook. "He—Ari made the safe sign," she said again.

Gibbs set his jaw, frowning a little. Kate had told him that—Haswari had used both things to calm Madeleine, and of course Madeleine had then put implicit trust in him, as she had always been taught to do.

Madeleine looked up at him with her wide, innocent green eyes.

"He made the safe sign and—and _then_—then he—he _hurt_ you?"

It was a child's confused statement, a silent plea for understanding, and Gibbs didn't know what he was supposed to tell her.

* * *

><p>DiNozzo was busy quietly watching an old black and white movie, steadfastly trying to convince himself it wasn't weird that Kate was asleep in his lap. They were partners and it had been a bitch of a day. It only made sense that he'd offered to drive her home and had hung around to mull over the events. So it was only <em>kind<em> of weird that she was snuggled up to him like she was his girlfriend or something.

His hand rested on her shoulder, but that was about as relaxed as he got. He was straight-backed and stiff-necked with his eyes on the film he'd insisted would cheer her up. He was also waiting for McGee to get back with Chinese food, and Abby to return with the air mattress from her lab. _And_ he was wondering what Gibbs would think if he knew they were all having a weird grownup sleepover at Kate's apartment.

He couldn't decide if Gibbs would think it was creepy and forbid it, or if he would approve. Gibbs was pretty hardcore about them acting like a team and sticking together, so DiNozzo was currently leaning towards the latter. Kate had been really out of it while they were doing paperwork, and when McGee had come in after a reckless drive from Norfolk against orders, breathlessly demanding to know what had happened, Tony had noticed Kate had a little bit of the panicky, crazy-eye thing going on while she explained.

So he'd suggested they leave the office for the day. It had turned into all of them heading back to Kate's apartment for moral support.

Apparently Kate had the opportunity to injure Ari Haswari, and she hadn't been able to do it—and it was driving her crazy. DiNozzo kept trying to tell her it didn't matter, because she could have hurt Madeleine anyway if she'd tried, but Kate was really beating herself up about the whole thing.

It was primarily bothering her that she hadn't been able to talk to Gibbs about it, as he'd gone straight to the hospital and then straight home with Madeleine. She felt like it was her fault that Madeleine had ended up in the basement at all. A_nnoyingly_ enough, Abby felt like _she_ was the one at fault.

McGee was floundering around trying to make everyone feel better and berating himself for not being there to help, and DiNozzo was just valiantly attempting to be team leader in a situation where the team leader was a little preoccupied. If Gibbs were here, he would have snapped Kate out of it with a good glare.

But all Kate had right now was DiNozzo, and all that had resulted was Kate sobbing about how bad of an agent she was for half an hour, and then spending the rest of it tearfully trying to figure out what the hell had even happened in autopsy.

DiNozzo had to admit—he was wondering that, too. The entire ordeal had been stressful and strange from the moment it started, and Madeleine's connection with the terrorist who had taken her hostage was unnerving. On top of that, DiNozzo had learned that Abby apparently knew and had access to Madeleine's mother, and he was both curious and fascinated on that front.

Kate had fallen asleep on his shoulder after they decided to get food and stay the night. He'd put in his treasured copy of _It Happened One Night _and she'd been, surprisingly, out like a light twenty minutes later. Her sleeping on his shoulder had weirdly turned into her sleeping with her head in his lap.

Which he couldn't wait to tease her about later, but for now he was just a little put off by it. It wasn't that he minded or didn't think Kate was attractive; it was just that he didn't want to make things awkward if she was pissed at him when she woke up. He liked to tease Kate about sex and hit on her in his boyish, obnoxious way, but he'd realized of late that he didn't have any real desire to pursue her romantically—though he had entertained the idea for a while.

She was…like a goofy little sister to him these days.

Tony sighed and relaxed, leaning backwards. He hoped Madeleine was doing okay. When he'd gone into autopsy and found her crouching in a corner screaming for Gibbs, he'd been truly afraid she was traumatized out of her mind But the moment she'd seen him, she'd quieted down and started pitifully demanding he tell her where her father was. Her sobbing hadn't stopped, but she hadn't been listless, either—and there hadn't been a scratch on her. He was relieved that she had trusted him the moment she'd seen him.

He smiled a little, thinking of how her face had lit up when Gibbs walked over to her. It had been really…nice to see the look on Gibbs' face when he saw her safe and realized she was all right. It had been a little daunting, too, because DiNozzo was still trying to make sense of this mystery surrounding Gibbs and Madeleine's mother and the sister Madeleine had flippantly mentioned.

Gibbs, of course, was tightlipped about everything.

DiNozzo was startled from his thoughts as Abby and McGee came traipsing back in at exactly the same time. McGee slammed the door and Kate shot up, blinking rapidly, her hair sticking out in several. DiNozzo grinned at her and ruffled it mockingly; she glared at him and looked around, readjusting to her surroundings.

Abby held her phone up gleefully.

"Gibbs and Madeleine are home," she said brightly. "Maddie's snug as a bug in bed!"

* * *

><p>Long after he had finally coaxed Madeleine to an exhausted sleep, Gibbs sat in the basement wide-awake holding his gun in his lap. His arm hung loosely in the sling they had given him at the hospital, and his eyes were trained on the Sig Saur as if it were the only thing in the room.<p>

He needed sleep as badly as his daughter did, but he just wasn't able to lie down and close his eyes.

He knew now why Haswari had needed shots to be fired—when the hostage team assault was triggered, he was able to sneak out disguised as one of them with Qassam's effects in his pockets. Gibbs was hard pressed to figure out what Haswari's game was—he had been wearing a bullet proof vest, so goading Gibbs to shoot him had been part of the plan—but if he was trustworthy, if his actions were part of his mysterious assignment from Mossad, then why had he _deliberately_ fired upon Gibbs? It didn't seem like a good way to convince others of his loyalty. Gibbs knew mentioning it to Ziva would just induce her to say he was protecting his cover when he acted the part of terrorist, but he also knew when a man was shooting to kill—and Haswari had been _shooting to kill_.

It was just luck that the conditions in autopsy, with the darkness impairing his vision, had thwarted Haswari's attempt on Gibbs' life. Gibbs knew from gossip around Mossad that Haswari was somewhat of an unreliable shot at close distances—he was a sniper, tried and true, just like Gibbs.

Gibbs turned the Sig over in his hands, vaguely wondering if Kate was recovering okay. She and DiNozzo had stayed to put through the paperwork and wrap up issues with hostage response—McGee had been told to stay in Norfolk until his assignment was done, but Gibbs heard from Ducky that he'd ignored that order and come back anyway. On the one hand, Gibbs didn't approve of McGee disobeying orders—on the other, he was secretly impressed that the nerdy young agent had the balls to do it.

A faint glow interrupted his train of thought, and then the basement was filled with the low sound of the laptop going off. Gibbs prowled around the boat to the computer; his brow furrowed, and narrowed his eyes. He set his gun down and pressed a button to answer the Skype call.

He was silent as Jen's face came in to focus, and the first thing her eyes went to was his injured shoulder—and her jaw visibly tightened. She raised her eyes to his, and they were both quiet for a moment, thinking of the past missions they'd been involved in together when one of them had gotten hurt.

"Is she okay?" Jenny asked, breaking the silence.

"I don't know," he answered gruffly, being honest with her.

Jenny leaned forward, running a hand through her hair. She parted her lips, but he cut her off before she could speak.

"What the hell's going on, Jen?"

She held out her hand, her eyes wide.

"You know as much as I do, Jethro," she answered tensely. "Mossad hasn't been forthcoming with me since I left."

"Ziva didn't waste any time dragging you into it!"

"Speaking of that," growled Jenny, hurt by the aggression in his tone. "What were you thinking, keeping me in the dark?"

"I didn't want to scare you!" he retorted defensively.

He hadn't wanted to start a fight, but the sheer amount of confusion and misinformation flying around was taking its toll.

"What if something had happened?" Jenny demanded. "You should have called me, prepared me, just in case—just in case she ended up hurt, so it wouldn't have been a horrible shock, in case she ended up dead—"

"She's _not_ dead!" barked Jethro fiercely, his eyes hardening. Jenny even mentioning the possibility was too much for him to handle; he didn't want to think about it any more—not when he'd spent all day thinking about it and that, in turn, had brought all the rawness of Kelly's death to the surface. "She's alive and safe—no thanks to Ari Haswari!"

Jenny leaned forward on her desk and put her head in her hands, breaking down into tears. She seemed not to have heard his last poisonous words, and all he could hear now was the sound of her crying through the distorted, scratching speakers on the laptop. His annoyance and anger abated a little and his hand moved involuntarily—as if he could comfort her through the screen.

"I want to see her," she cried softly. "I want to _see_ her, Jethro!"

He could see that her knuckles were white from gripping her hair so tightly, and he felt suddenly sapped of strength. He picked up the laptop and balanced it on his uninjured arm, turning and sinking to the basement floor with it in his lap. He tilted his head back heavily against the counter and sighed, unable to find anything to say.

He understood more than anyone how Jenny was feeling, but there was nothing he could do. For so many reasons, he couldn't take Madeleine to Egypt; it was up to Jenny to decide if this was enough for her to find some _way_ to get here—to find out if there was even the slightest chance she could show up in the flesh and be the comfort to Madeleine she so desperately wanted to be.

* * *

><p>In the blurry days following Haswari's infiltration of NCIS, Gibbs half-expected Jenny to show up on his doorstep—and though she never did, she made it a point to call every night and talk to Madeleine. He didn't know how she was managing it, as he knew her schedule was rarely conducive to such structured personal breaks, but he was fiercely proud of her for coming through.<p>

It was really helping him deal with Madeleine.

His arm was out of the sling after a week, but the stiffness and soreness of the injury was still making things a little more difficult when it came to his functioning. When he'd been in the sling, DiNozzo had taken responsibility for driving him to work and picking Madeleine up from daycare. He was back to doing that himself now, but Madeleine had gotten a little wary of all the changes.

Gibbs spent most of his time sharply focused on Madeleine, trying to decide if she was doing all right or if he needed to sit her in a room with the NCIS psychologist for a while. Morrow was—as usual—insisting Kate and Ducky undergo that ordeal, and though Gibbs blew off the order, he wasn't so sure he should refuse to let Madeleine be included. Ducky was helping him keep an eye on her, and so far he hadn't had any off reports from her preschool center, but he was still worried.

It was harder to make her go to bed, and Madeleine had never really been a difficult child when bedtime came around. She tried to wheedle him into reading more than one book, she sometimes tried to make him stay until she fell asleep, and then lay there refusing to go to sleep. He let her sleep in his room twice a few days after Haswari, but in an effort to keep her independent and prevent her from becoming clingy again, he put his foot down and made her sleep back in her room again.

There had been a lot of angry yelling that night, but she had forgotten his _meanness_ in the morning.

He was trying to keep her busy, too, with play dates with friends from daycare and a little bit of shopping with Noemi and spoiling from Abby or Kate. Madeleine had warmed up to Kate a lot since the hostage situation—which Ducky said was natural. It wasn't that she hadn't liked Kate before, but she had showed a prominent preference for DiNozzo and McGee; now she often liked to sit with Kate when she was at NCIS.

_That_—the fact of her being at NCIS—had been a bit of a brutal battle for a few days. In the aftermath, Gibbs had decided that he wasn't going to be taking Madeleine to NCIS anymore; he was going to change the plans so that she was at preschool an extra day. He would let her keep her day with Noemi, but simply subtract her full day at the Navy Yard in the interest of safety. And when he'd mentioned it to her, she'd thrown the _biggest_ fit he'd ever dealt with in his entire life as a parent.

She had screamed at him and sobbed and kicked and gnashed with her teeth and then refused to speak to him and knocked her food off tables—until he really did think he was going to have to spank her to get her to behave herself for five minutes. He got Ducky in his corner to help and she still hadn't calmed down, and he'd got Jen on the phone to help and Jenny had shouted at him for even thinking of forcing Madeleine to give up her day with him.

"_Don't you understand how scared she is, Jethro?"_ Jenny had yelled, furious with him. _"Don't change her routine now! She can't take having her routine changed anymore! Are you even thinking this through? Keep her at work with you, she's just scared of losing you!"_

He had relented and scrapped the idea of taking NCIS away from Madeleine, but he'd also been annoyed at Jenny for that sort of interference. Madeleine's behavior had been unacceptable, and at that point it hadn't been so much about his decision as it was her reaction—and now he was afraid she had it in her head that if she waged war on him and asked Mommy, she'd get whatever she wanted.

Nevertheless, when he'd told her he changed his mind and she could keep coming to NCIS on Mondays, he'd ben forgiven and the next morning she'd been as sweet as she'd ever been.

Gibbs was tired through and through, and he once again _fervently_ wished he wasn't doing this by himself.

* * *

><p>Madeleine was colouring at Jenny's kitchen table when Gibbs got home from work, and when she saw him, she jumped up and darted to him for his customary welcome-home hug. He crouched down and kissed her cheek, smiling and ruffling her hair.<p>

"How was your day?" he asked.

"Noemi made tacos!" Madeleine chirped in answer, beaming excitedly. She took his hand and marched him over to the table, climbing back into her chair and sitting on her knees. "Look," she instructed, swinging his arm and pointing at the page she'd been colouring.

"Pretty," he complimented obediently, raising his eyebrows at the brightly coloured ponies. "Did Noemi buy you some markers?" he asked cautiously.

Madeleine nodded.

"I promised her I would not colour on walls," Madeleine said solemnly. "Only in the books," she giggled and showed him her hands. "Markers are pretty!" she laughed, and he shook his head fondly at the purple and red and green marks staining her little fingers.

"Wash 'em before dinner," he said mildly.

He walked over to the refrigerator and opened it, looking for something to drink. He chose apple juice when he really wanted a beer. It was one of the many sacrifices of being the single parent to Madeleine: because he drew the line at milk, he drank a _lot_ of fruit juice. Shannon had trained him not to drink alcohol around Kelly lest she somehow get a hold of it, and that had stuck with him. He just didn't _drink_ in front of Madeleine.

He sat down across from Madeleine.

"Where is Noemi?" he asked.

"Laundry," Madeleine answered promptly. "Bed sheet washing day!"

Gibbs cringed. He was uncomfortable with the amount of housework Noemi did for him. He knew it was her job, and she kept her routine because Jenny paid her to do so, but it wasn't something he was used to. On top of that, he was a little uneasy about how it would affect Madeleine; he didn't want her to be so spoiled that she wouldn't clean her own room.

He watched Madeleine colour for a moment and cleared his throat. He had been trying to devise a way to make her feel a little safer sleeping at night, and after a long conversation with Ducky he'd grudgingly decided what he was going to do.

"Emmy," he said, catching her attention casually. "You remember when I promised you that once you got settled in and comfortable with me, we could get a puppy?"

She scoffed at him.

"Daddy _forgot_ about Mr. Puppy," she said sassily, shooting him a rude look.

He laughed.

"No, Daddy was hoping you forgot!" he retorted.

"Well, Madeleine decided to just wait for Christmas magic," she answered sagely. She tilted her head up at him seriously. "Abby says Santa Claus comes for Christmas. Hanukah doesn't have Santa Claus. Explain why."

With a start, Gibbs realized his daughter had _no idea who Santa Claus was_. He stared at her for a moment, trying to remember if he had ever heard Jen mention it—and he remembered that she hadn't. Christmas had always been a quiet affair between the two of them because in Israel Hanukah had been so vibrant.

He titled his head and thought about it.

"Santa Claus is the spirit of Christmas," he said slowly. "Supposed to be, anyway," he added gruffly. "He brings the presents on Christmas morning."

"No Daddy. _You_ bring the presents."

He laughed again, distracted from the dog issue he'd originally brought up. He wondered why Jenny had never talked about Santa Claus, and why he'd never noticed before.

"Yeah," he agreed, ceding her that point. "It's usually a Christmas fairy story parents tell their kids." He started to reference Christmas movies, and then realized he couldn't ever remember her actually watching them. "Pony can let you see some Christmas movies to explain it," he added.

"Is Santa Claus real?" Madeleine asked, brows furrowed and colouring abandoned.

Gibbs paused.

"No," he answered reluctantly. "He's supposed to represent generosity and giving, though, Emmy," he added.

"Oh," she said. She pointed a crayon at Gibbs. "Daddy," she said very seriously. "You may not tell Emily that Santa is not real."

He raised his brows and bit back a grin. He nodded solemnly.

"I promise."

"Pinky _swear_, Daddy!"

He extended his pinky, locked it with hers, and swore he wouldn't tell Emily Fornell that Santa Claus wasn't real. Madeleine looked pleased with him and leaned forward on her elbows, putting her chin in her hands.

"Are we still doing Hanukah _and_ Christmas this year?" she asked brightly.

He nodded.

"Are we Jewish or the other one?" she went on promptly.

"Uh," he fumbled the question, tilting his head.

He didn't take Madeleine to church, though he'd attended church regularly with Shannon and Kelly. He'd been raised in some sort of small town Christianity, he'd been Catholic because Shannon told him to be, and Episcopalian when Diane demanded he be, and the years in between had been godless in a search for respite. He didn't know how to answer Madeleine.

He shrugged.

"You can be what you want," he decided.

"What's Mommy?"

He cocked an eyebrow.

He was about to admit that he didn't know when Noemi bustled in and saved the day.

"Your mama, she is Catholic, like Noemi," she said, patting Madeleine's head and crouching down. Her kind eyes sparkled, and she wrinkled her nose. "She not very good at it," she whispered teasingly, and Madeleine giggled. "Her papa let her run too wild to be good at it."

"Oh no!" Madeleine gasped. "Daddy, do not let me run wild!" she pointed at him accusingly. "God will not like me!"

"No, no!" Noemi cried softly, shaking her head. She touched her finger gently to Madeleine's nose. "God likes all his children, little _senorita_!"

"Even bad ones?"

"The bad ones he loves the very most," Noemi said sweetly, and then stood back up and went about checking on her dinner.

Gibbs gave her an admiring look and made a mental note to talk to Jen about this later. He looked back at Madeleine, and she appeared deep in thought. She pointed at Noemi.

"Noemi can teach me hers," she decided. "But I am Jewish, like Tali, like Ziva!"

"Okay," Gibbs said simply.

Madeleine cocked her head, frowning.

"But Daddy, you like Christmas—and Mama, too?"

"Well," he said. He shrugged. "We'll celebrate both until you're big enough to choose," he bargained. "Christmas is pretty American now, anyway," he noted dryly.

It was so commercialized and secular these days that even the non-religious seemed to gravitate towards Christmas as their winter holiday. He didn't see any harm in letting Madeleine have the one she was familiar with from Israel. He understood she was a bit mixed up because she'd been used to celebrating both then.

"Do I get presents for both?"

Gibbs laughed, giving her a wry look.

"Nice try," he drawled. "We'll do presents on Christmas, like always," he said, and then leaned forward, his hands around the cup of apple juice. "That's what I wanted to talk about," he said.

"Oh, the puppy, yes, yes!" she remembered excitedly, leaping to her feet in the chair.

Noemi smiled affectionately as she opened the oven and took out tortillas, busy getting dinner ready. The smell of Mexican food permeated the kitchen, and for the hundredth time Gibbs was reminded of why Noemi was a blessing and a godsend.

"You still want a puppy, M?"

Her face lit up.

"Please!" she cried. "Please, yes!" she looked as if she would leap across the table at him, but she just stood, clasping her hands with wide eyes. "Ducky's puppy had puppies?"

Gibbs made a face.

"No," he answered, shaking his head. "And I was thinking we'd get you a bigger dog, you know. One that can make you feel safer when you get scared in your room at night."

She paused and tilted her head, thinking about it. It seemed that giving up on having one of Ducky's corgis was a really big decision for a four-year-old. She looked at him and bit her lip, furrowing her eyebrows.

"Daddy, I want a big, fluffy, soft, BIG, dog! A big one that will scare away nighttime ghosties!"

He smiled at her, and nodded.

"I'll see what I can do," he said wryly. He raised his brows. "We're going to wait until Christmas so I can figure out what the best dog is for a little girl, okay? You just think of some puppy names."

She slid down to her seat giggling and gave him a serious look, her brows rising into her hair.

"A good puppy name is Tobias 'cause Mrs. Diane says he lives in a doghouse!"

* * *

><p>In the days following his promise to get Madeleine a puppy, Gibbs came to the glaring realization that he had to figure out what their plans for the holidays were—Thanksgiving, Christmas—Hanukah for Madeleine—and New Year's. He wanted the season to be as good as could be for Madeleine, as he knew, at this time of year, she'd be especially sad that Jenny wasn't here.<p>

He had to decide how he was going to go about celebrating Hanukah with her—since he really knew nothing about it beyond the typical eight days of presents thing—and figure out if he was going to take up Ducky on his offer to do Thanksgiving at his house. That was where the team usually gathered—except for Kate, who went home to her family when she could—and he was usually holed up in his basement brooding. The other option he was entertaining for Thanksgiving was a visit to his father—but then, he ultimately decided he wanted Madeleine's first Thanksgiving to be one full of people she knew well and adored. It would probably get the point across a lot better, since Jenny had never thought to celebrate the American holiday with her.

He would decide what to do about Madeleine seeing her grandfather later—either he would invite him for Christmas, or they would take another trip to Stillwater. No matter what he decided, it was bound to be at least a little awkward. The trip he'd taken to introduce Madeleine to his father had softened their relationship a little, but there was still so much silence between them that Gibbs found it difficult to break it at all.

"Madeleine," Gibbs asked, looking in the rearview mirror.

She blinked at him expectantly, kicking her feet to the sound of the radio.

"Do you want to do Thanksgiving at Ducky's house?"

"Why can't I thank him at NCIS?" she asked seriously. "Wait. Thank Ducky for what, Daddy?"

Gibbs laughed.

"It's a holiday," he explained. "An American holiday."

"Did you make that up, Daddy?"

"No, Emmy, Abraham Lincoln did."

"Who's that?"

"An American president."

"No, the president is George Bushes."

"Bush," Gibbs corrected, laughing again. "Lincoln was an old one. A _long_ time ago."

"What are we thanking that guy for?"

Gibbs shook his head, unable to get the grin off his face. He pulled into his parking spot in the NCIS garage and killed the car's engine, turning around in his seat.

"We're not. He just made the holiday official. We're thanking the Indians for helping the first Americans survive the winter. There's lots of food and—"

"That's silly."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Silly?"

"Aba," she said seriously. "Indians live in India."

Gibbs tilted his head, looking at her intently for a moment.

"Native Americans," he corrected slowly, and then arched only one of his eyebrows. "It's a long story."

"Oh, well," Madeleine said matter-of-factly. "Ducky is good at long, long stories. We may go to Ducky's for Thank You day."

Gibbs reached behind the seat and grabbed her foot, tickling her playfully. The things that came out of her mouth never ceased to amuse him.

* * *

><p>DiNozzo hung around in Abby's lab, kicking a hacky sack while she waited for results. It was late in the evening and he didn't have a date, so naturally he was spending his free time bumming around the agency. He had an ulterior motive, he just hadn't figured out how to bring it up yet.<p>

Abby was busy clicking around like crazy on her computer, entertaining herself while she ran about twenty different DNA samples for a few different teams.

"Whatcha doin', Abs?" Tony asked mildly, his eyes on the hacky sack as he hopped around.

"Looking for puppies!" Abby squealed happily. "Don't hit Major Mass Spec with that," she added as an afterthought.

"Nah, I won't, I'm a champion at hacky sack, Abs," he answered smugly—and then promptly lost control of it and kicked it right into the glass separating the lab from her office. She snorted, and he gave her a sheepish look, abandoning it and sidling up next to her. He cocked his head with interested.

"Puppies, eh?" he asked. He pointed to a cute ball of fluff in the corner of her screen. "What's this one?"

"It's a Newfie," she said. "Newfoundland. But it's already been spoken for," she frowned and exited out, pulling up a new tab. "I think we're going for this one," she said, a smile lighting up her face.

"We?" Tony asked skeptically. "You and McGee getting a dog?"

"No, Gibbs is getting one for Maddie!" Abby cooed excitedly. "It's going to be a Chrismukkah present."

Tony frowned uncertainly. The fact that Madeleine was apparently celebrating Hanukah and Christmas was just another piece of the puzzle that seemed to make up her story. It wasn't too surprising, since she spoke Hebrew—and Tony had now figured out that she'd lived in Israel at some point—but it was all still so maddeningly _vague_.

Abby refused to tell him anything she knew about Madeleine's mother, and he kept trying to catch her off guard and learn something.

"Is her mom Jewish?" Tony pried casually.

Abby smiled, her eyes on the screen.

"I don't know," she answered truthfully. "But why turn down Chrismukkah?"

"I never liked The O.C.," muttered DiNozzo—and Abby promptly punched him in the shoulder and gave him a menacing look. He frowned and massaged the spot, giving her a hurt look—and then he broke into a sly grin. "You think Gibbs will wear a yarmulke?"

Abby laughed heartily.

"Not around us, he won't," she said confidently. She poked Tony and pointed to the screen. "Is he a cutie or what?" she asked.

DiNozzo obediently looked at the new picture she was so intently focused on. It was another fluff ball puppy, lighter than the other one. He took a moment to study it, and then shrugged in a manly way and pretended the adorable puppy _wasn't_ melting his heart.

"St. Bernard?" he asked.

Abby nodded.

"Maddie wanted a big dog, and since I help out with rescue dogs, he asked me to help him look into finding one—he wanted a lab, but that's so boring, and I suggested a search and rescue dog, and he jumped right on _that_," Abby explained, gesturing wildly with her hands. "He's twice as protective now and it seems Maddie is scared of the dark all of a sudden, so we narrowed it down to the Newfie and the Bernard and, well—"

"St. Bernards used to carry whiskey," Tony remarked.

Abby pointed at him and smirked.

"Exactly," she crooned, and clapped her hands. "He's such a Gibbs dog!"

"Won't he get a bit _huge_ for Maddie, though?" Tony asked.

Abby shrugged.

"Any dog is big for a four-year-old, really. Even a lab. Bernards are easier to train and not as hyper, so less likely to knock her down," she explained.

DiNozzo nodded. He tilted his head and then looked back at Abby.

"Are you and McGee still doing whatever Goths and Geeks—do?" he asked slyly.

Abby tilted her head right back, her eyes imperceptible. She pursed her lips slightly, a sparkle in her pupils, and then she shrugged in a nonchalant way and danced in place, shaking her head and wriggling her shoulders at the same time.

"It's none of your business," she trilled firmly, nodding her head—and then she bookmarked the dog search and looked over her information on DNA for a moment, her brow furrowed. Without looking at him, she went on: "I know you're down here to bug me about something. If it's Madeleine's mom, I'm not telling you anything," she said seriously but lightly. "She's Gibbs' business."

Tony shook his head.

"It's not about her," he said honestly.

As painfully curious as he was about all of that, he was down here to prod around and see if Abby knew anything about any other kids Gibbs may or may not have had. He couldn't get what Madeleine had said to him when she was sick out of his head, and since the Haswari ordeal, he'd been a little…concerned about Gibbs.

Even though he'd probably never admit that to the Boss's face.

"It's about Gibbs," DiNozzo muttered.

Abby turned her full attention to him, putting one hand on her hip. She looked at him with interest, green eyes shining.

"Gibbs," she repeated thoughtfully. "_El_ _jefe_, the Batman to your Robin," she mused, and then her lips quirked up. "What about him?"

"Um."

DiNozzo still hadn't figured out exactly how to begin. He didn't know if Abby had any information for him, and he didn't want to upset her by springing something on her. Nor did he want to set off her investigative nature if this was something Gibbs was privately dealing with. It—hell, Madeleine's slip about his other little girl _might_ be the whole reason Madeleine was suddenly living with Gibbs.

"Out with it!" Abby prodded, reaching out and poking is chest insistently.

"Uh," Tony began, and then shrugged, steeled himself, and plowed on: "Is Madeleine Gibbs's only kid?" he asked.

Abby looked surprised; her eyebrows shot towards her jet-black hair.

"Well, yeah," she answered briskly, as if it were obvious.

She gave him an absurd look.

"Don't give me that," Tony said, wrinkling his nose. "He hid Madeleine from us for like three years. Who knows what's going on in his life," he threw out flippantly. "Gibbs is probably the real Slim Shady, for all we know."

Abby giggled. She bit her lip, and DiNozzo went on.

"I mean—when I picked Madeleine up from school, she said her teacher was an old friend of _Kelly's_," he explained slowly, "and when I asked her who Kelly was, she said it was her sister who died, and then she told me to stop asking or Gibbs would be sad."

Abby frowned, thinking for a moment. She shook her head abruptly.

"I don't know what Madeleine's talking about," she said, and then: "She might mean Tali," she muttered to herself, and shook her head, "No, Madeleine wouldn't forget Tali's name—"

"Who the hell is Tali?" Tony asked exasperated.

Abby waved her hand vaguely and didn't answer. She frowned again, tilting her head back and forth.

"She might—no, Madeleine's mother doesn't have any other children, so Maddie must have been confused—" Abby suddenly broke off, her face freezing. She stared in front of her, forgetting Tony was in the room for a moment, and he finally had to literally _snap_ her out of it.

She swallowed hard and turned her head up to him. Her lips were parted, and she seemed to be thinking hard.

"Tony," she said softly, her brow furrowing. He looked at her expectantly, a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Tony, when he told me about Madeleine, he said he had two daughters," she said, the conversation coming back to her in a rush. "I was so excited to see the picture of Maddie, I didn't ask about—the other."

The scientist and the skirt-chaser looked at each other in silence for a few minutes, letting their thoughts wander.

Tony lifted his hand to his face and rubbed his palm over his eyes and his jaw. Abby bit her lip and turned her head towards the DNA scans, her eyes glassy. She stared blankly in another direction, her mind going crazy. DiNozzo stared at her profile.

"You think Gibbs' other daughter died, Abs?" he asked hoarsely.

She pressed her lips together tightly and lifted her shoulders.

"Maybe," she said quietly. "I can't ask him, Tony," she added, turning to meet his eyes. "I can't. But it—it says so much about _Gibbs_."

"What happened?" Tony asked aloud, more to himself than to Abby. He set his jaw tightly, trying to think of what it could have been—and _when_. "Would—her and Madeleine's mother tell you?"

Abby blinked, and then her lips turned down sadly.

She squinted her eyes.

"No. She—I," Abby broke off, frustrated. She had sworn to keep Gibbs' personal life a secret. She was in uncharted waters though—she knew Jenny only had one child, so was it betraying Gibbs' trust to speculate? "Tony," Abby said. "It's a different _mother_."

He looked at her somewhat like a kicked puppy and swallowed—he hadn't expected that. He'd just assumed Gibbs' kids had the same mother—then again, this could explain the string of marriages he'd torn through. DiNozzo had never thought Gibbs seemed like the type to just burn through women; Gibbs was more _traditional_ than _Tony DiNozzo, Sr_. However, most marriages didn't survive the death of a child, and if that's what had happened—

"Do you think Ducky knows?" Tony asked.

Abby lifted her shoulders helplessly.

"He's known Gibbs the longest," she said.

The two fell into silence again, torn between investigating, and letting something that was obviously so painful for Gibbs fade from their minds.

* * *

><p>Once in a while, Maddie Tyler wondered what her life would have been like if Kelly had never died—and she wondered how Mr. Gibbs would have been different.<p>

She mostly thought about it during the preschooler's naptime. She always lay down—to _pretend_ to nap but _really_ supervise—on a mat next to Madeleine's, and she couldn't help but let her mind wander. After all, Kelly Gibbs had been her best friend, and Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs had been the dad who was the _most_ fun to play with.

Most of her other friends' dads were officers, or much too busy for their children, but Mr. Gibbs had never been like that. If Kelly wanted to play, he would play, and it didn't matter if Kelly wanted to paint his face with her mother's lipstick. He hadn't even gotten mad when Maddie accidentally broke one of his tools in the basement. Some of Maddie's best memories were of summer days playing in Kelly's backyard. It had always been so carefree and exciting—until they had to go to California for Mr. Gibbs' deployment, and then Shannon and Kelly had died and Mr. Gibbs had—well, he had changed.

Maddie didn't blame him, of course. It had all been so difficult to understand when she was a child. She'd only been waiting every day for it to be time for the Gibbses to transfer back to Quantico, and then all of a sudden her father had been sitting her down in the living room explaining she was never going to see Kelly again. And Maddie Tyler had cried and cried and refused to believe it—she refused to believe it until Mr. Gibbs was finally home from his medical leave in Germany, and they held the funeral, and there were flowers and black clothes and he sat up in the front row with Kelly's grandparents, looking hurt and tired and alone.

It was the most vibrant memory Maddie had, that day at the funeral. Her father had tried to force her to stay with him, but she'd run away from him anyway and darted through all the bigger people to find Kelly's dad. And even though Maddie's mother had said he probably would be too sad to see her, she ran up to him when he had a moment alone—and it turned out Mrs. Tyler had been wrong, because Gibbs had crouched down and hugged Maddie so tightly she thought he was never going to let go.

She'd asked him if he was still very hurt from the war, and he had kissed her cheek and told her he wasn't hurting at all, and she understood that a lot better now. Of course the injuries had been nothing compared to his loss. He had sat down in one of the white chairs again, and she climbed up next to him and held his hand until all the people were gone, and finally her father and Kelly's grandmother had come over. Maddie's parents had taken her away, and Gibbs had put his head in his hands, and the last Maddie had seen was Kelly's grandmother kneeling in front of him and trying to comfort him.

And then he'd gone back to California to finish his assignment, left the Marines, and joined NCIS.

She hadn't seen Gibbs again until he'd walked into the daycare center with his new little girl, and he'd looked so different than she remembered. He was older, more careworn—but he hadn't looked so empty and dead like he had that day at the funeral, and she was happy to see it. She may not have seen him since that day, but she'd heard her father mention him a couple times, and say in a hushed voice how awful it was that Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs was drinking his talent away in _that damn basement_.

So when she'd seen him again, bearing a lighter burden, with little Madeleine, she'd felt a little better—because all these years the memory of his hug at the funeral had kept some part of her very sad.

She smiled to herself, thinking of Madeleine Gibbs. She was vivacious and adventurous and sensitive and intelligent. Maddie liked her very much—and though Madeleine wasn't very much like Kelly at all, she had the same nose and mouth—just the same as her father. It was refreshing to see.

Madeleine had regaled Maddie all day with new information: how she was getting a dog for Christmas, and how she was going to learn how to be Catholic from her maid—and how thrilled she was to learn about Thanks Day from Ducky and the rest of Daddy's team. The holiday was getting closer and closer, and Madeleine seemed to keep forgetting she'd already told Maddie all about her plans.

"Big Maddie!"

Maddie turned her head at the hissing whisper.

"Big Maddie," Madeleine said softly, her big green eyes blinking in the low-lit nap room. "I can't sleep! I do not like naps!"

Maddie lifted her finger to her lips.

"Pretend," she said quietly. "Only ten more minutes!" she encouraged, and made a funny show of pretending to snore. Madeleine giggled, and then covered her mouth, mimicking the shushing motion with her finger.

"After nap we can get out the horses colouring books," Maddie said.

Madeleine snuggled under her blanket.

"Horses are pretty," she said conspiratorially. "I like my Pony better."

Maddie crinkled her nose and smiled gently.

"You know, Emmy, your sister's favorite animals were horses…"

* * *

><p>Jenny laughed and burrowed further down in her covers, holding her cell phone tightly to her ear. She hung on every word her daughter was saying, until an exasperated Noemi wrestled the phone away from the four-year-old, clucking in a motherly way.<p>

"Ah, senorita, you will drop your mama's phone!"

Madeleine made some sort of loud noise of protest, and there was a splash. Jenny was only mildly sorry for calling at bath time and causing such a stir, but it had been about a week since she'd been able to talk to Madeleine, and since before that she'd been calling every day, she took the first opportunity she could.

"Senora, she is so like you, she think she can do anything," Noemi complimented.

"Even hold the phone in the bathtub?" Jenny snorted.

"Si, even that!"

Jenny laughed again, adjusting her head on her pillow.

"Where is Jethro?" she asked, furrowing her brow to herself. "It's Saturday night."

"He work," Noemi answered promptly, sounding a bit distracted. "You want I tell him you call?"

"Yes, always," Jenny said quickly. "He's at work? On a Saturday?" she clarified.

"Si, senora, he work," Noemi repeated. "He work two weekend shifts so he can have Thanksgiving for Madeleine," she explained.

"Ah," Jenny remarked, realization washing over her. "I understand. Noemi, do you know what he's planning for Thanksgiving?"

"He and Madeleine go to this Ducky, his house," Noemi said.

"Ima," shouted Madeleine loudly enough to ensure she was heard. "Ducky is to tell me about Bam Lincoln and the Native Americans!"

Jenny crinkled her nose and snorted to herself.

"I think she has it a little confused," she murmured, and Noemi laughed good-naturedly.

"She so happy to go," the Latina said brightly. "She no care if the story is Abraham Lincoln or the John Smith!"

"Pumpkin pie's the most important part, anyway," Jenny said solemnly. "Do you know when Jethro will be home?"

"Oh, oh not too late. He not work too late very often. Maybe seven?"

Jenny sighed. She had really been hoping to speak with Jethro. She was glad he was working his schedule to give him some time for the holiday, but she also knew they were on tense terms since she'd interfered, overruled, and demanded he change his mind on the Madeleine going to work with him thing, and she wanted to make things right.

"Daddy is mine when he is home!" Madeleine yelled. "Not yours, Ima. No, no. You want him, you come get him!"

"I see she's attempting to bribe me," Jenny said dryly.

It was cute of Madeleine to attempt to wheedle a visit out of Jenny with such adorable ultimatums.

"Let me say goodbye to her, Noemi, I've got to go," the redhead said apologetically.

Noemi helped Madeleine to stand up, dry her hands, and take the phone. She made sure the child wouldn't drop the phone into the bath with her by holding it with one of her own hands as well.

"Mommy," Madeleine breathed into the phone.

"I have to go back to work, ahuva," Jenny said lightly. "I'll talk to you on Skype later this week. I love you."

Madeleine answered in Hebrew, clutching the phone.

"Be good, Madeleine," Jenny said. "Take care of Daddy, remember?"

"Bye-bye, Mommy," Madeleine said earnestly. "I shall keep Daddy safe."

* * *

><p>Tony DiNozzo had spent the last ten minutes marveling at Gibbs' ability to stare through a pair of binoculars without twitching, flinching, flexing, or even moving at all. It had been so long since a stakeout had been necessary that DiNozzo had forgotten what a complete freak show Gibbs was when it came to sitting silent and still for hours on end. He'd also forgotten how Gibbs' utter silence always made him slightly terrified to speak lest it somehow startle Gibbs' Marine instincts into action.<p>

He was itching to open the sandwich in the back at his feet, but he was also concerned the crinkling might piss off Gibbs. He hadn't liked the fact that this stake out was necessary because he didn't like to leave Madeleine overnight, but he was particularly growly about it because the only person available to keep Madeleine over night had been his ex-wife.

DiNozzo took a quiet, deep breath and reached for his sandwich.

"You, uh, see anything, Boss?" he asked.

Gibbs grunted unhelpfully.

"Want me to take over for a while?"

Gibbs turned his head and gave a pointed look to the sandwich DiNozzo was opening, and then went back to watching by himself. DiNozzo looked at his food sheepishly, and then shrugged. If Gibbs enjoyed his statue-like monopoly of the work, that was fine. He unwrapped the sandwich and examined it—it was a little squished, left over from this afternoon, but he could deal with that—a lot better than he could deal with a loudly growling stomach.

Still, something kept him from tucking in to the sandwich. When he wasn't staring at Gibbs trying to figure out where he got his ninja stakeout skills, he was trying to work up the courage to ask Gibbs about Kelly. Since he'd brought it up to Abby, his curiosity had threatened to drive him crazy—and on top of that, since the mere suggestion that Gibbs had a child who died, Abby was jumpy and a little sappy around him, and Tony wanted to be able to tell her what happened. She stalwartly refused to ask Gibbs, and she even refused to broach the subject with Madeleine's mom just in case Gibbs was hiding it from her.

DiNozzo couldn't decide if the stakeout was a good place to bring it up. On one hand, he had Gibbs trapped. On the other hand, _he was trapped with Gibbs_.

Gibbs tilted his head and cracked the bones in his neck, and DiNozzo decided to take that as a sign that he wasn't too threatening.

"Hey, Boss," he started seriously.

"DiNozzo, so help me God, if you mention the _Blues Brothers_ one more time—"

"No!" DiNozzo interrupted hastily, shaking his head. "No, I'm not, I swear," he insisted, remembering all too clearly why he had been keeping his mouth shut in the first place. "You'll probably wish I was making a _Blues Brothers_ joke," he muttered as an afterthought.

"What?" snapped Gibbs, lowering the binoculars and turning to glare at Tony.

Tony looked back at him with a vague frown etched on his face, the sandwich lying forgotten in his lap. He decided it was better to do it as if he were ripping off a Band-Aid.

"Madeleine said something weird in the car the other day," he blurted.

He could have kicked himself. Something _weird_? _Weird_?! That was so vague, so misleading! Gibbs had no idea DiNozzo was about to slap him with some pretty hard-hitting questions!

Gibbs glared at him a minute longer and then snorted, turning back to his surveillance.

"If she asked you to kiss her, you damn well better have said _no_," he growled sharply.

DiNozzo stared at him, dumbstruck, for a moment, and in the silence, Gibbs tilted his head a little.

"When?" he asked slowly, as if suddenly realizing Madeleine hadn't been alone in the car with DiNozzo recently.

"Back when she was sick," he supplied promptly. "When I picked her up from Mason's daycare—what do you mean, if she asked me to kiss her?" he demanded.

Gibbs shook his head a little.

"She said she was gonna kiss you on the mouth," he answered after a moment, a threatening note in his voice. "Nipped that one in the bud."

Tony gulped.

"Uh, for the record, Boss, I would never—"

"You'd be dead."

"Y-y-yep," Tony stammered in agreement, nodding fervently. "Dead DiNozzo."

Gibbs remained silent. He seemed to think silence was effective enough. Tony coughed.

"One time, on this show _House_, the hot Australian doctor kissed a nine-year-old dying girl—"

"DINOZZO!"

"I'M NOT SAYING I WOULD DO IT!" Tony panicked. "It just got—awkward!"

Gibbs stared at him in disbelief, and Tony took that to mean mentioning old guys kissing children probably wasn't the best way to dispel an awkward silence. Tensely, Gibbs turned his head away, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

"What the hell did Emmy say?" he demanded.

It had to have been something weird to have DiNozzo so flustered. Then again—a lot of things seemed to _fluster_ DiNozzo.

Tony went suspiciously silent, and after a moment, Gibbs looked over at him expectantly and arched an eyebrow. If DiNozzo was about to tattle on his daughter for being mean—

"She said she had a sister."

Whatever Gibbs had been expecting, it obviously hadn't been that. He didn't move a muscle when DiNozzo's words sank in; instead he continued to look at his senior agent expectantly, almost as if he hadn't heard him. Then his lip twitched at the corner and his brows knit together just slightly.

"She said what?" he asked bluntly.

DiNozzo swallowed hard.

"She said her teacher—Maddie—was her sister's friend. And she said her sister died," Tony hesitated, and then ploughed on. "Boss? How many kids do you have?"

Gibbs turned away, starting to lift the binoculars to his eyes. His jaw tightened considerably, and just before the binoculars reached his nose, he paused, staring straight ahead.

"Madeleine talked about Kelly?" he asked in a distracted voice.

Tony nodded, though he wasn't sure if Gibbs was paying attention. He felt like he was walking on the thinnest ice in the world.

"Kelly," he repeated. "Yeah, Maddie said her name was Kelly," DiNozzo said, waiting on tenterhooks for Gibbs to say _something_.

But Gibbs didn't say anything. He just stared out the front window of the car, holding the binoculars at an awkward angle near his face. DiNozzo leaned forward to get a better look at his face, and the rustling sounds his clothing made when he shifted seemed especially loud.

"Uh," Tony began. "Boss?" Gibbs still didn't answer, and so DiNozzo took a deep breath and said in a rush: "I asked Abby and she didn't know what I was talking about. Then she said you mentioned you had two daughters once, but she refused to ask you about it. Ducky didn't know, either, and I was just—"

"Nosy?" Gibbs supplied in a curt voice.

DiNozzo looked sheepish, and shook his head, bothered by the accusation.

"Not…nosy," he said tensely. "You're…my partner—Gibbs," he muttered, attempting to point out that he actually did give a damn about things that bothered Gibbs. "You know you were—you were there when Wendy…left me," Tony reminded him.

DiNozzo stopped talking and ended up just staring at his Boss. Gibbs reached out and gripped the steering wheel. His knuckles turned white and his vision flicked down to the binoculars. He thrust them onto the dashboard and ran his hand over his knee.

"Could've looked it up," he said roughly.

"I—what?"

"NCIS cold case. Nineteen-ninety-one."

DiNozzo's mouth hung open for a moment. He shook his head.

"I didn't know to look—" he broke off. "I don't want to go behind your back, Gibbs."

Gibbs clenched his fist on his knee. He struggled with whether or not to answer DiNozzo's questions, and how to do so without losing it. He was bad at talking about Shannon and Kelly when he was prepared to do it—but when caught off guard, the pain was only that much worse. If he did tell DiNozzo the story now, though, then it would save him the horror of telling Abby himself, or having the whole team stumble across it.

He knew he could trust DiNozzo to open his big mouth.

He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel.

"I was in Kuwait in ninety-one," he said gruffly. "Kelly and her mother witnessed a murder in California. My wife was going to testify," he took a long pause. "The hitman for the Reynosa cartel shot their NIS agent while he was driving Kelly to a piano recital. The crash killed them all."

DiNozzo swallowed and leaned back heavily in his seat. He started to say something, lost his nerve, and then cleared his throat.

"Your wife _and_ your daughter?"

Gibbs nodded harshly.

Tony chewed on the inside of his cheek. He knew Diane, and he knew Gibbs' first wife lived at the Jackson hotel—so he concluded that Gibbs had actually been married three times.

"While you were fighting in Kuwait?"

When Gibbs didn't move, Tony realized he should stop repeating the details of what happened—he was sure Gibbs knew it all very well, and didn't need to be reminded of it.

"What—was your wife's name?"

"Shannon."

"How old was Kelly?"

Gibbs was quiet for what seemed like an eternity.

"She was eight, Tony."

DiNozzo looked away and out the front window. He felt sick to his stomach. He couldn't relate to the kind of thing that had happened to Gibbs, but he thought about how upset he and the rest of the team would be if something had happened to Madeleine, and then he couldn't imagine what it must be like to lose your own child.

"And NCIS—they never caught the guy?" DiNozzo asked.

"It's a cold case. Agent Mike Franks."

DiNozzo turned and looked at Gibbs seriously.

"You let some bastard get away with killing your family?" he asked skeptically, his eyes boring into the side of Gibbs' head.

Gibbs turned to look at him.

"It's a cold case," he repeated pointedly, and DiNozzo knew that was all he was going to say—even though his eyes and every line in his face told Tony that Gibbs had definitely not let the hit man responsible _get away with it_.

Hollow silence fell in the car, and Gibbs was staring out the window again, white-knuckled.

"Boss," Tony said in a low voice. "You know I'd take a bullet for Maddie. Any of us would."

Gibbs's jaw twitched; a muscle in his forehead throbbed.

"No one's taking a bullet for her but me," he growled sharply.

"No way, Gibbs," Tony retorted firmly. "I don't know where the hell her mom is, but there's no way we'd let you leave her all alone. I'll take the bullets."

Gibbs leaned forward and rubbed his hand over the bridge of his nose, his fingers running roughly over his cheeks, mouth, and jaw. He turned abruptly, a little violently, and opened the car door, letting a rush of wintry air in. Tony leaned forward sharply, tilting his head.

"Gibbs?"

"Gettin' air," Gibbs answered in a hoarse tone.

He slammed the door, shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked around to the front, his back to Tony as he leaned against the hood. DiNozzo watched him quietly for a moment, still trying to get rid of the hollow, sick feeling the information had given him—and then he picked up the binoculars and stoically took up Gibbs' surveillance job.

* * *

><p>The moment they walked into Ducky's house, Madeleine threw herself onto the floor amidst a yapping pile of corgis, and Gibbs watched in dismay as the stocky little dogs toppled all over each other to lick her face and shed their stupid hair all over her.<p>

He should have known better than to put her in a new dress when they were going somewhere dogs were present.

"Emmy," he growled lightly. "Get up."

She giggled madly, rolling around to her stomach and hugging one of the dogs next to her—and she ignored him.

Right on cue, at the sound of Madeleine's giggles, Abby darted into the foyer to greet them. She took one look at Gibbs and threw her arms around his neck; hugging him so fiercely he stumbled back a few feet, his brows going up in surprise.

"Abby," he grunted, laughing a little. "What's the idea?"

She was acting as if she hadn't seen him in a week, and they'd just been at work together yesterday. Abby didn't let go of him; if anything, she squeezed him tighter, grabbing fistfuls of his coat in her hand. She shrugged lightly and hugged him a few moments longer—until Madeleine got wise to what was going on.

"Hey. Abby. Let go of Daddy."

Abby stepped back, her hands still on Gibbs' shoulders. He tilted his head at her curiously, and then he realized DiNozzo must have told her about Shannon and Kelly. He narrowed his eyes slightly, holding her gaze for a moment, and then he reached up and removed her hand from his shoulder. He patted it and gave her a small smile. She smiled back softly.

"Tony told all of us," she said quietly, careful not to let Madeleine hear her lest it start a bigger conversation. Abby sighed and shook her head a little. "Oh, Gibbs," she muttered, her big eyes chastising him slightly.

"It was a long time ago, Abs," he said gruffly, pulling his hand out of hers and rubbing his jaw.

"That doesn't matter," she answered. "It must feel like yesterday to you."

Gibbs ran his hand over his hair, his hand resting at the back of his neck. He looked down at Madeleine while she roughly scratched a Corgi's ears and puckered her lips at it, her dress flipped up in a very unladylike manner. It didn't feel as fresh as it used to, really. Not since he'd accepted that he could be happy without them—not since he'd come to terms with the fact that they were never coming back, and that loving other people wouldn't diminish the love he'd had for Shannon and Kelly.

"Gibbs," she said earnestly. "You should have told me. You didn't have to be alone."

He shook his head a little and shrugged his shoulders. There had been so many people who tried to break through to him and tell him the same thing—that he didn't have to be alone. But the truth was, Shannon and Kelly had been the only two people in the world who he'd loved and trusted unconditionally. When they were gone, the light was gone from his life, and he had felt totally and completely ostracized and _alone_. Those people wouldn't understand that, for him, it had to be like that. He had to deal with it on his own, or else he'd never have been able to be healthy without someone else to distract him. That's why his subsequent marriages had failed. It was also why he wasn't going to fail with Jenny.

He leaned forward and kissed Abby paternally on the forehead.

"I'm not alone," he said, and before he could react to the misty look in her green eyes, he heard a growling snap and looked down.

"Madeleine, put that dog down," he ordered firmly.

She was trying to pick up one of the full-grown animals and carry it with her into the dining room—and the poor little dog looked miserable. It had snapped at her, and now it was growling quietly and menacingly, its lip twitching.

"But Daddy," she whined. "Contessa won't come!"

"When dogs growl at you, you back off," Gibbs told her. "If she bites you, I won't be mad at the dog."

It was a white lie, because Gibbs would be pissed if anything bit Madeleine, but he knew he'd have to be pissed silently. If she antagonized an animal until it bit her, it was her fault, not the dog's. And Gibbs didn't want to have to sit at Thanksgiving dinner comforting her and silently plotting to kill one of Mrs. Mallard's prized animals.

Madeleine glared at him.

"Emmy, if you want me to buy you a puppy, you have to prove to me you can be safe around them. Even good, nice dogs can get mad."

She frowned at him, released the dog, and stood up, putting her hands on her hips.

"Just like good, nice, daddies," she retorted sassily, and scampered off towards the sounds of the other voices in the house.

Gibbs glared after her mildly, and Abby let out a shriek of amusement. She slipped her hand through his and began to gallantly escort him into the dining room where all the Thanksgiving bustle was taking place.

"It's going to be fun, Gibbs," she said brightly. "Kate and I made a pilgrim hat for Madeleine, and Tony's dressed as a turkey, feathers and all—she's never going to forget the story of Thanksgiving." Abby's excitement bubbled over, and in the doorway of the dining room, she turned to Gibbs, and tilted her head secretively.

"How's Jenny?" she asked conspiratorially.

"She's good, Abs," he allowed quietly.

Abby beamed.

"Good," she said, and held out her hand to the dining room table. "Let's feast!"

* * *

><p>Madeleine was delighted with the pilgrim hat that had been made for her, but the unparalleled highlight of her evening was DiNozzo's turkey feather get-up. It sent her into peals of giggles every time she looked at him. Her eyes shone in enjoyment the entire time Ducky told her the story of Thanksgiving; the doctor's storytelling was impeccable, and Tony's goofy, added comments made it double as impressive.<p>

She had her own chair at the dining room table, complete with phone books for her to perch on, but by the end of the story she was sitting in Gibbs' lap, her attention rapt, twirling the edge of her dress's sash in her hands.

When Ducky finished, Madeleine clapped her hands.

"Ducky, were the Native Americans and the Pilgrims friends forever?" she asked happily.

"Er," began Ducky slowly.

Gibbs shook his head over Madeleine's head.

"She'll learn it when she's older," he said, deflecting Ducky's next long tale of disenchantment about how the Native Americans and the Pilgrims certainly were _not_ friends for the rest of forever.

Ducky smiled placidly at Madeleine, and before she could cotton on to the wool being pulled over her eyes, Kate spoke up.

"When we do Thanksgiving at my house, we always say what we're thankful for before the turkey is cut," she explained, her eyes on Madeleine.

"I'm have thanks for lots of things," Madeleine said solemnly. "I cannot pick."

Kate laughed.

"That's good!" she encouraged.

"You think of the one thing you're super, super, most thankful for," Abby broke in brightly, "and while you're thinking, the rest of us will go, and we can save the best for last," she explained, and then leaned forward and whispered secretively to Madeleine: "That's _you_. You're the best!"

Madeleine beamed and tilted her head up.

"Daddy, go first," she ordered.

Gibbs looked a little sheepish and gruff; he clearly didn't like the idea and definitely hadn't expected to be ordered to spill his guts about what he was grateful for before he'd even had time to accustom himself to the idea. He couldn't exactly wriggle out of it, though, lest he set a bad example for his daughter. He figured speaking in French or Russian would be rude to his colleagues, even if it amused him. He cleared his throat.

"'M thankful for you, Emmy," he said, ruffling her hair gently.

She blinked at him expectantly.

"And Mommy," she prompted seriously.

DiNozzo's eager eyebrows shot up into his hairline and nearly disappeared; he leaned forward, and Gibbs sighed internally, giving a small roll of his eyes and a grin.

"Yeah, her too," he added gruffly, pressing a kiss to Madeleine's temple.

The answered satisfied Madeleine and didn't give DiNozzo any fodder for gossip. Madeleine smiled happily and then whipped around in his lap, pointing her finger at Tony this time.

"Turkey-Pony, you are next," she announced, and in a nice turn of karma, DiNozzo was caught off guard and dropped his mouth open. He stammered for a minute, and then fell silent, and thought about it for a moment, his eyes squinted.

"I'm thankful for pretty girls," he tried.

"Be serious, Tony," Kate said firmly.

"Okay," he amended hastily. He looked around at them, and shrugged. "I'm thankful Thanksgiving doesn't suck anymore."

It wasn't, perhaps, the most eloquent of answers, but for Tony, it was pretty damn meaningful. He had never liked holidays after his mother died; they were just reminders that his father cared more about scotch, his next payoff, and his next wife—though not always in that order.

Abby smiled at him, and then she cleared her throat.

"I'm thankful for family," she said, held out her hands, and then hugged them to her heart. "Mentally hugging you all, right now," she announced.

Eyes turned to McGee, and Madeleine leaned forward so she could hear him better.

"Uh," he said, his face turning red. "I'm, uh. I'm thankful for—Abby," he blurted out, his face becoming even redder.

DiNozzo snorted, but his tease died on his lips when Abby spoke up loudly and said:

"That's sweet, Timmy!"

She then shot DiNozzo a glare, and they moved down the line—to Ducky.

"My thanks to good health," Ducky said, raising his glass. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling. "Mine, and my mother's," he added wryly.

The slightly senile Mrs. Mallard had mixed a little too much Valium with her scotch for the occasion and was snoring the holiday away upstairs in her posh bedroom. Ducky, well accustomed to such an event, was unconcerned.

"Caitlin," he said, passing the torch to her.

The brunette tilted her head and thought for a moment.

"I'm thankful for a team I can rely on," she decided, looking around at them—for Kate had never experienced at the Secret Service what she was accustomed to now at NCIS. In the service, they were a well-oiled team that functioned strictly by the book, but they weren't friends. Here, at NCIS, they functioned almost effortlessly, but these people were also _friends_ she could go to if she couldn't make it home for the holidays or if she just needed a shoulder to lean on.

Her gaze lingered for a moment on DiNozzo, for being so mature about her breakdown after the hostage situation. He flashed a sheepish grin at her, and she smirked back, before turning and raising her eyebrows kindly at Madeleine.

"Did you think of something, sweetheart?" she asked.

Madeleine leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. She looked about, a studied look on her face. Gibbs tilted his head at her, looking at the back of her head curiously, and wondering what was in it. His daughter sighed and cocked her head.

"I want my mama here," she said conversationally. Gibbs rested his hand against her back comfortingly, starting to lean forward. Madeleine wasn't finished, though. "But I have thanks that she sent me away to here," she decided slowly, "because here I can play and everybody plays with me. I like it."

She blinked at them for a moment, and then she swiveled around and looked at Gibbs, an uncertain look in her eyes.

"Is it okay?" she asked earnestly.

He nodded, still letting it sink in.

"It's okay," he soothed, stroking her hair.

"But Ima," Madeleine began, and Abby broke in, leaning over and taking Madeleine's hands. She kissed them fondly, and her green eyes sparkled.

"Are you happy, Emmy?" Abby asked sweetly.

"Oh, yes!" answered Madeleine.

"That's all your mother wants, you know," Abby said simply, shrugging her shoulders lightly. "That's all anyone wants you to be, is happy!"

Madeleine beamed and stood up in Gibbs' lap. He held her legs, watching her like a hawk, ready to grab her if she lost her balance, but she seemed to be doing okay. She tossed her head, basking in the attention, and tentatively happy that she had successfully been thankful on this new holiday.

Gibbs, for one, felt relieved—because it was the first time that he really felt like Madeleine was comfortable and safe; it was the first time he was confident that she called him and the life he'd brought her to _home_. He knew she had adjusted well, and things had been infinitely easier as the days went on and the memory of Israel faded, but now he could relax and breathe, secure in the knowledge that Madeleine wasn't pining to go back and live with her mother.

Now, if he could just figure out a way to get Jenny _here_—

"Daddy," Madeleine said abruptly, falling back against his chest forcefully and poking his leg. "Daddy, you must help me pull the lucky part of the wishbone from Timmy," she ordered—for it seemed someone had been telling her about that while he was thinking.

Gibbs didn't miss the terrified look on McGee's face, so he gave the kid a break—it being a holiday and all.

"I think you're strong enough to get it yourself," he said.

"Ah, but we must get to the wishbone first," Ducky announced, standing up at the head of the table. "Madeleine, dear, you will get the first slice of turkey this year!"

She clapped her hands with a bright smile of delight.

* * *

><p>Gibbs raised his eyebrows at the amount of food Ducky was currently packing in to plastic containers.<p>

"Keep some for yourselves, Ducky," he advised lightly, staring as the doctor added another spoonful of stuffing to one of the tubs.

"Nonsense," Ducky scoffed. "If I kept even half of this, mother and I would be fit for months," he said, looking around at the masses of food that were left even after everyone had their fill at dinner. "Besides, Madeleine enjoyed the stuffing and cranberry sauce so much, I simply can't allow anyone else to have it."

"Yeah," Gibbs said dryly, looking down at the cranberry sauce that Madeleine had ended up getting all over his shirt. The reddish-purple stains were in the form of fingerprints, because it seemed to no matter how sharp his eye was, he still kept falling behind on keeping her hands clean.

Ducky grinned good-naturedly.

"I suppose she gets that from her mother," he remarked, "as I seem to recall you having a particular hatred of cranberry sauce."

"Too sweet," grunted Gibbs, making a face. He nodded his head. "Jen could eat it like soup," he added distastefully.

Ducky chuckled.

"Package it up and send it over to her," he joked, placing a cap on the tub of stuffing. He looked about him curiously. "Where's the little one gotten to?"

Gibbs made another slightly harassed face.

"Fell asleep," he said reluctantly. "With the dogs," he admitted.

"Ah," Ducky said, amusement twinkling in his eyes. "Well, they're very _clean_ dogs, Jethro."

"One of 'em chewed her new shoes," Gibbs complained gruffly. "She's gettin' that dress so wrinkled it needs ironing, and the more she rolls around with 'em, the more tangled her hair gets, and I'll have to comb it out in her bath—and she's such a whiner about the tangles," he broke off, suddenly hearing himself, and Ducky laughed outright.

"It seems you need a woman around the house," he remarked.

Gibbs snorted.

"Jenny Shepard hasn't ironed a day in her life," he said skeptically.

"Be fair! I seem to recall her ironing all of my dress shirts before that event in Paris," Ducky protested defensively.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow sheepishly.

"She didn't," he admitted dryly. "She took the credit. I _did_ it."

"That was _you_?"

Gibbs said nothing, a sheepish look on his face.

"Those pleats were gorgeous!" Ducky lamented, still in shock.

"Hey," Gibbs said gruffly. "Your CO finds your uniform wrinkled at inspection, you see how fast you learn to iron."

Ducky laughed again, shaking his head, and Gibbs opened the paper bag sitting on the counter, beginning to put boxed up leftovers into it.

"Jen couldn't iron any more'n she could cook back then," he remembered in a low voice.

"Well, I rather suppose she learned to cook," Ducky said, "As Madeleine clearly wasn't fed frozen and fast food for the first three years of her life."

Gibbs nodded.

"She learned," he said mildly, and took the next container of food from Ducky. "Where's that wishbone?" he asked, looking around.

Even though McGee had struggled quite a bit for the lucky part of the wishbone, Gibbs knew he'd just been pretending to pull until Madeleine finally managed to yank hard enough to get the lucky piece herself. She'd preened over it, teased '_Timmy'_ fondly, and then happily gone off to play, never for a moment thinking she'd won because she'd been allowed to.

Gibbs wandered out towards where Madeleine was sleeping amidst a pile of dogs, and found the wishbone to be in the mouth of one of the Corgis—it was deliriously happy gnawing away on the bone, and Gibbs glared at it balefully. He crouched down and took the bone firmly from the animal, ignoring the mild growl he received. He patted Madeleine's head and went back into Ducky's kitchen to rinse off the slobber-covered item.

Ducky saw what he was up to, and snorted.

"I assume old Lionheart had it," he said.

"Who?" grunted Gibbs.

"Richard the Lionheart, he's the old stud dog," Ducky explained. "He can sniff out a bone on anyone, and I'm quite sure I saw Madeleine slip that in her pocket," Ducky trailed off, shaking his head fondly and beginning to put things away. "Are you still planning to celebrate both Hanukah and Christmas with Madeleine?"

Gibbs nodded, drying off his hands and the wishbone. He slipped it into his pocket for safekeeping.

"Yeah, I think Tali was a little more zealous with the Judaism than Jenny or I realized," he remarked, still a little wary of the whole situation. It wasn't that he cared what religion anyone was, so long as they weren't annoying about it. It was more that he knew he was poorly equipped to help Madeleine educate herself in Judaism. Hell, he couldn't even give her the education in Catholicism that Noemi had offered, and he'd practiced it himself every year of Kelly's life.

"I know a decent bit about it, if you'd like to let her come sit with me once in a while when I'm not busy," Ducky offered.

"Yeah, she'd like that," Gibbs agreed. He paused, hesitating to tell Ducky his plans. "I'm tryin' to get Ziva to talk with her a little while during the season, but she's such a pain in the ass to deal with sometimes…"

"Ziva is Tali's younger sister?" Ducky inquired.

"Older," corrected Gibbs. "Good woman," he said, "but a piece of work. Think her old man really did a number on her," he muttered, thinking of all that Ziva had been subjected to—and wondering what else was in her past that he simply didn't know about.

"Growing up in Israel can't be easy," murmured Ducky.

"Less easy if you're raised by Mossad," Gibbs pointed out curtly. His eyes travelled towards the kitchen entrance, and Ducky knew he was thinking about all the years Madeleine had spent in that very stronghold. He didn't say anything to Gibbs and instead let the silence carry on—then after a moment, he ventured:

"Do you have any word as to when Jenny might be back stateside?" he asked, but before Gibbs could say anything—not that he had any answer for that whatsoever—Kate walked in, her coat over her arm.

She looked hesitant, having clearly overheard Ducky's question, and she swallowed, clearing her throat.

"I'm heading out," she said slowly. "Gibbs, will I wake Maddie up if I say goodbye?"

He thought about it, and shrugged.

"Wake 'er up," he said. "It's fine. I don't want her up all night, anyway," he decided.

Kate nodded. She thanked Ducky, slipped her coat on, and said goodbye to Gibbs. A moment later, they heard her muffled voice as she coaxed Madeline awake and said her goodbyes there. A dog barked happily, and there was some scuttling on the floor as the Corgis eagerly tried to escape the house for the outdoors.

Madeleine darted into the kitchen rubbing her eyes and found Gibbs' leg, hugging him tightly. She rested her head against his knee silently, but he sensed she wanted to go home—it had been a long day and as much as she enjoyed the feast and the dogs and the friends, she was a little like him in that at the end of the day she just wanted to be in the basement—or if not there, playing with her dolls or her Legos on the bedroom floor.

Gibbs absently reached down and patted her cheek, and turned to Ducky to take his leave politely.

"Appreciate all the food, Duck," he said.

"Oh, of course!" Ducky said, nodding good-naturedly. He crouched down and held his hands out to Madeleine for a hug, and she came forward willingly, placing a swift, sweet kiss to his cheek.

"I shall take turkey sandwiches to daycare all week," she announced sublimely.

"Be sure to put a dab of cranberry sauce on them all," Ducky answered.

"Yum," she giggled, and stepped back from him. She tossed her head and waved, reaching reflexively for Gibbs' hand and slipping her fingers into it. "I liked Thanks Day, Ducky," she said. "It happens every year?"

"Every year," he confirmed again, smiling genuinely.

"Next year I shall bring my puppy," she said, beaming. "But he shall be big and fluffy and maybe scare Contessa and Mr. Lionheart and the others."

Ducky laughed and touched his finger to her nose lightly.

"Perhaps next year we'll celebrate Thanksgiving at your house, dear one," he said.

She beamed silently and leaned back against Gibbs again. She just nodded, but she was too young to really think that might happen, and she assumed that what had happened this year would inevitably happen next year—unless Daddy decided to send her back to Mommy, and she didn't _really_ think that was going to happen.

Gibbs picked up their bag of leftovers and held up his hand.

"See ya, Duck," he said pleasantly, guiding Madeleine towards the door.

Ducky watched them as they left, and he smiled when he heard Madeleine say:

"Daddy, Richard the Lionheart licked my face until I gave him the wishing bone."

* * *

><p>Ziva David was positive she was frightening the armed IDF guard who monitored the parlor of her father's office. She pretended not to notice that he was watching her apprehensively, but deep down somewhere it amused her. She knew she looked particularly wild today, as she'd spent half the week camped on a godforsaken mountainside in Syria with a sniper rifle perched on her shoulder and her body covered in brush. On the stealthy journey back home she hadn't bothered to wash or comb her hair—nor had she bothered to do any of that before she appeared for the meeting her father had summoned her to.<p>

She was used to the IDF guards being wary of her, and she was content to allow them to simmer in their anxiety. She was staring with fixed, hawkish eyes at the poor man, but she spared not a thought for him—she was too busy listening to the shouted Arabic exploding from her father's office.

It seemed that while she was gone, Ari had reappeared, suddenly and uncaringly. Since the report from the United States that Ari had gone haywire in the American capitol, Eli David had been on a ballistic rampage to rein him in and find out what the hell he was doing, while Ziva herself was tense and anxious as to what his endgame was.

She suspected Ari's recent mania had something to do with the painful passing of Tali's nineteenth (twentieth?) birthday. The date had almost coincided with American Thanksgiving, which was why, Ziva assumed, she had received a phone call from Jenny Shepard—which she had promptly ignored. She had no doubt that Jenny had wanted to offer words of comfort; she appreciated the thought, but she couldn't bear it.

It was clearly too much to ask that Eli David honor his youngest's death by comforting his only remaining daughter, and with Ari off the grid, Ziva had volunteered for the Komemiute sniper mission that Liat had failed to qualify for. So she had spent her baby sister's birthday alone in a hostile country, waiting for her target to walk into the crosshairs. And when it had, and she'd pulled the trigger and put a bullet through the skull of one of Mossad's most wanted, she'd tried not to think about the three-year-old child she'd just made fatherless, and she went home, and here she sat.

She held her cell phone in her lap, methodically tapping one finger on it, lazily translating the Arabic still bellowing through the walls. She hated when Ari spoke Arabic. As much as she understood that it was a part of his culture, of his mother, the way he spoke it was harsh, oddly sinister—it reminded her of missions gone wrong and men gone mad. Arabic was a beautiful language, yet sometimes Ari could make it sound as if it were spoke from the mouth of Bin Laden himself.

Ziva lifted her hand and pulled a twig from her hair. She flicked it to the floor, and IDF guard flinched. She flashed her teeth at him in a dangerously sweet smirk—the new ones were so much fun to play with.

She entertained the idea of attempting to seduce him—to pass the time, and to distract her from the fact that the only family she had left were two hot-headed men whose favorite past time was screaming at each other—but she was thwarted at that moment, as Ari flung open the door and stormed out of the Director's office. For the best, she supposed; her father tended to get a bit testy when she _toyed_ with his guards.

"Ari," she greeted coolly.

He met her greeting with a burst of violent swearing in Arabic, and then his eyes widened as he took her in, and the anger in them dampened some, and he switched to Hebrew, deflating ever so slightly. She stood to greet him and he, still red in the face, leaned over and touched the crown of her head lovingly, kissing her platonically on the forehead like any kind older brother would.

He plucked another twig from her wild hair and smirked, snapping it in his fingers.

"Ziva," he greeted. "You remember when the twigs in our hair were from climbing the trees in the olive orchard?" he asked bitterly—and before she could answer, Ari had stormed away, and Eli cleared his throat tensely from the doorway.

Ziva walked into his office, swallowing down the memory of the light-hearted times she almost couldn't remember now—the days when she and Tali had been in a safe haven with their mother, and Ari's visits had been rare and exciting and sweet.

Eli gestured for her to sit, and she did, making herself comfortable in an armchair in his office.

"All went well?"

"I am alive."

"Happy Birthday, Ziva," he said mildly.

"You have mixed us up," she said tightly.

"An, no no," Eli said quietly. "Yours was two weeks before hers. I simply did not get to tell you."

Ziva stayed quiet. She hadn't realized it had been that long since she'd seen her father. After a moment, she inclined her head.

"Toda."

"I am," Eli said, smiling as he dropped into his chair, "naturally more than pleased that you have made it to twenty-three."

She didn't correct him. He was off by a year. She didn't particularly care; she supposed Tali was on his mind, and whatever had happened with Ari. Her eyes moved over his face—it looked more lined than it had the last she had seen him.

"You have a new assignment for me?" Ziva asked tightly, wishing to waste no more times on pleasantries she always felt her father painfully forced himself to go through.

"Beyond permanently assigning you to Komemiute?" he asked. He smiled at her wryly. "Well done," he complimented lightly.

Once again, she didn't answer. She didn't want to be a part of Komemiute, but she would do what he asked her to do. She much preferred the stealth and analytical power of extraction and control operations; when it came to martial arts and violence, she preferred to use it as a ruthless last resort. She hated the sniper rifle; the sniper rifle was Ari's love.

"You have been in high demand since you were in Syria," remarked Eli silkily.

Ziva popped an eyebrow up at him lazily.

He smiled.

"There's someone quite persistently attempting to contact you."

Ziva turned her head to the side.

"I am ignoring Shepard for a reason," she said.

It was more than one reason, but she wasn't going to elaborate. Her reluctance to talk or hear about Tali was only one part of it; she was upset about what had happened with Jenny's daughter and Ari in the States—she felt responsible and guilty, and beyond that, she was still confused and stressed and suspicious about that entire escapade of her brother's.

"Ah, but it isn't Shepard," Eli said, shrugging as he leaned back.

His daughter looked over at him and pursed her lips.

"Who?" she asked, finally provoked to alert conversation with him.

Eli paused briefly, allowing a moment of almost playful suspense.

"Agent Gibbs, from what I can discern," he said slowly, "has been using contacts to find ways to get in touch with you."

Ziva remained silent, but something akin to happiness flared in her heart for a moment. She lowered her eyes for a brief second, memory flashing vividly before her eyes. It had been Gibbs who had comforted her in the wake of Tali's death, when Ziva had been consumed with a frightening, uncontrollable sort of heartache. She remembered firm, hard blue eyes that didn't tell her to keep a straight face and bear the Israeli burden; she remembered someone who had quietly understood the pain she was in and sat down next to her and eased it a little.

If only a _very_ little.

She flicked her eyes back up and tilted her head.

"What can Agent Gibbs possibly want?" she asked tediously, feigning indifference.

"He asks," began Eli, and then paused. "He asks that you get in touch with him in order to talk to the little girl about Hanukah."

"Madeleine," Ziva said shortly. "Her name is Madeleine."

"Yes, I remember," Eli answered absently.

Ziva's brow furrowed.

"You spoke with Gibbs?" she asked. Her voice was a bit scratchy, a little subdued. She couldn't imagine the two of them having a civil conversation—she remembered her father telling her once that Agent Gibbs had very nearly promised to kill him if harm ever came to Jenny or Madeleine by way of Mossad or Ari Haswari.

"Not directly," Eli answered briskly. "I authorized the switchboard to allow him to leave you a message. That, I listened to."

Ziva blinked, and before she could let it settle, her father pressed on:

"Will you acquiesce?" he asked.

She said nothing for a moment. Whatever her decision was in regards to such a simple request, she wouldn't be forthcoming to Eli. She didn't want her conversation with Madeleine monitored, and she didn't want a holiday moment in anyway marred by any spying or manipulating Eli might do.

Her first thought was that the request was absurd, and on the heels of that, she remembered how Tali had feverishly shared Judaism with Madeleine, and how—once she was dead—Ziva had pleaded with Madeleine in a moment of weakness to remember Tali always.

Madeleine was a child, and how could a child be expected to remember without a guiding hand?

Ziva raised her eyes back to her father in a blank way, and found him studying her silently; when he caught her looking, he cleared his throat and leaned forward.

"Speaking of Shepard," he growled in a low voice. "I shall be putting you back in contact with her in the near future."

"Any particular reason?"

"The two of you are familiar," he answered. "You understand each other. She has been trading information with the Kedong unit profusely recently, and Mossad has been cooperating with her—along with her contacts in DGSE."

Eli paused, and Ziva cocked her head. She knew Jenny had worked with DGSE whilst she was stationed in Paris with NCIS.

Eli put his finger to his desk pointedly, lowering his voice even more as he met Ziva's eyes and went on.

"That woman has wormed her way into Chechnya arms circles in a remarkable way, using her former contacts and her current resources," he divulged quietly. "She is hot on the trail of a highly threatening terrorist cell that we are going to follow from Uzbekistan right to her backyard."

"Cairo?" Ziva asked, her eyes going wide.

"Cairo," repeated Eli, as if the word were precious gold.

Mossad had been fighting to take out Cairo's central extremist terrorist cell for years now—since before Ziva had pledged her life to Mossad. Ziva pressed her lips together, a shiver of anticipation going down her spine—so Shepard was going to hand them that victory, and demolish a chain of supply in the process? She felt a sudden surge of pride for her friend—for that was what Jenny was, the only real _friend_ Ziva had since before she joined the army.

Eli was nodding.

"Cairo," he repeated. "We are—as the Americans say—flying blind as of yet," he informed, "but come the new year, towards the warmer months—Shepard is going to drop a Molotov cocktail into the pit of those Egyptian snakes."

* * *

><p>"Madeleine," coaxed Gibbs, with a smirk on his face, "tell Mommy what happened at pre-school today!"<p>

The little girl wrinkled her features bashfully and leaned back against him, shaking her head.

"What happened at pre-school?" Jenny asked curiously, leaning closer to the computer screen.

"Tell her, honey," Gibbs said again.

Madeleine shook her head.

"No, Daddy," she said patiently. "I mustn't brag. It's rude."

Gibbs snorted.

"I'll brag for you," he decided, pinching her knee fondly. "Dads are allowed to brag for daughters," he added softly. He lifted his eyes to Jenny's and grinned. "Emmy earned five gold stars on her chart today," he announced smugly. "That means she's tied for second-most stars."

Jenny gasped, expressing pride and excitement.

"Five stars? All at once? Madeleine, I'm so proud of you! What did you do?" she asked. She tossed her hair back and smiled happily. "Did you spell xylophone? Cure cancer? Teach a bear how to ride a unicycle?"

Madeleine let out an amused giggle at her mother's questions and shook her head, sitting forward more confidently.

"Bears aren't allowed in school, _Mommy_," she said seriously.

"Times sure have changed," joked Jenny. She cocked her head with interest. "Don't be shy. Now that Daddy's bragged on you, it's rude not to tell me what you earned!"

"It was safety day," Madeleine said, leaning forward and putting her elbows on the coffee table the laptop was sitting on. "Big Maddie and my teacher say I did the best in the drills, and I was the smartest about the Stranger Danger part!"

Jenny looked considerably pleased with this revelation.

"Of course you were the best," she said matter-of-factly, beaming at her daughter. She held up her hand and made the safe sign. "You've known all the stranger rules since you were a little baby."

"Since I lived with you!" Madeleine cried happily, making the safe sign back at her mother. Jenny nodded, and Madeleine shrugged. She leaned back against Gibbs and raised her eyebrows. "Yeah but sometimes people make the safe sign and they aren't safe, like when Ari shot Daddy, so I don't know what to do about that, Ima."

Jenny's pleased look faltered a bit, and she gave Madeleine a soft smile.

"You can trust your instincts, Madeleine," she said. "You inherited a pretty trustworthy gut from your father."

"Okay," Madeleine said, unconcerned, and moving ahead with the next topic. "Hey, Ima, did Ari go to time out?"

Jen's eyes flicked to Gibbs, and then she looked back at Madeleine briefly.

"He did," she answered—and it was a lie right through her teeth; Gibbs watched her right eye twitch. He frowned a bit, but said nothing. He would have said the same thing; it was just a simpler answer than _we can't find him and have no idea what the hell he's up to_.

"Good," Madeleine said. "'Cause I had a bête noir about him last night again, and Mommy he said I couldn't see Daddy and that is not okay so he must be spanked."

Jenny bit her lip, troubled at the idea of Madeleine still having the occasional nightmare, and slightly amused by her use of the French term for nightmare. She saw Gibbs kiss her temple and squeeze her shoulder. He muttered something comforting in her ear, and she seemed fine, so Jenny chose not to delve too deeply into the subject lest she set off tears or bad memories. They had the whole night, and she wanted it to be a good one—so she asked:

"Has Daddy been teaching you French?"

Madeleine giggled.

"No, no, no, that is what Kate calls them," she trilled. Her eyes brightened. "Noemi talks in Spanish to me, like Becca used to talk in Hebrew and Ari's language!" Madeleine never said Arabic; she simply called it Ari's language. Madeleine laughed excitedly. "Big Maddie says I will know too many languages, but she's just silly. I only know some words! I only know Hebrew for _real_," she added loftily.

"Are you still fluent in Hebrew?" Jenny asked curiously.

Madeleine burst into a string of it, culminating in some off-key singing, and Jenny finally cut her off with a grin, seeing the bored look on Gibbs' face.

"Okay, okay, let's talk so Daddy can understand," she placated. "Very beautiful though, sweetie," she complimented. "You know, Spanish might be more useful for you in the States."

"Okay I shall ask Noemi to tell it to me," Madeleine said rapidly.

Jenny started to answer, but the four-year-old cut her off.

"Noemi is teaching me now about being chocolate," Madeleine said seriously.

Jenny's lips parted uncertainly.

"What-?"

Gibbs laughed gruffly, a smirk touching his lips again.

"_Catholic_," he corrected, ruffling Madeleine's hair.

"That," Madeleine said primly, nodding her head vigorously.

"Oh," Jenny said, interested. She tilted her head at Gibbs. "Why is Noemi doing that?"

"Because Madeleine asked what religion her mommy was," Gibbs retorted with a wicked grin.

Jenny looked abashed and gave Madeleine a sort of sheepish look, but the little girl had been distracted by something and was looking around on the floor. She leaned forward, sliding off of Gibbs lap, and darted off towards her room to fetch something.

Gibbs wiggled his eyebrows at Jenny.

"She asked to do Hanukah and Christmas, like you do in Israel," he explained slowly, "and we come to realize she's got no idea who Santa Claus is," he paused, and then arched an eyebrow, "and no real concept of what Christianity is."

Jenny raised a hand and pointed to herself.

"Mother of the year," she said dryly. She sighed and pushed her hair back. "It never occurred to me to instill religion," she said.

"I asked if you wanted to baptize her," Gibbs reminded her gruffly.

"It just—" Jenny paused. "It didn't click. I guess I don't remember being taught Catholicism myself; I was just raised in the environment. She—"

"She thinks she's Jewish, Jen," Gibbs pointed out.

"Well, then let her be Jewish," sighed Jenny with a shrug. "I don't care. I don't believe in God," she said flippantly.

Gibbs said nothing. His pupils dilated, and he looked at her intently. Under the scrutiny of his gaze, piercing even through a computer screen, she faltered, and she had to fill the silence.

"Do—you?" she asked slowly. "Believe in God?"

She had always assumed he didn't. He had seemed godless during their time in Paris, and then after she'd discovered the truth about his past and his family, she'd still believed he would have no special belief in a higher power. If it were she, her faith would have died the moment her family did—and on that point, it probably had. With her father had died any shaky remnants of her faith in a God.

Gibbs blinked thoughtfully.

"Yes," he answered simply.

He said nothing else, and though his face was blank and his tone gentle, she felt chastised somehow. She felt—humbled, she supposed. How could he? After he'd had everything he cared about ripped away, how could he still have faith while she walked blindly through a secular world?

"Why?" she asked quietly.

He looked down the hall to see what Madeleine was doing, and she was sure he wasn't going to answer her. When he did, it was gruff and short:

"Too many bullets should have hit me," he said vaguely.

He must be talking about war. She still didn't see how his faith could hold strong.

"What religion are you?" she asked.

He smirked, unable to define that himself, but certain on a deep level that he believed in a just higher power.

"Whatever the wife tells me to be," he quipped, just as Madeleine darted out of her room and charged into his knee holding bundles of clothing.

"Ima," she said excitedly. "Kate gave me all these pretty dresses that are leftovers from her niece and they are so pretty and I shall try on all of them for you and you will see how pretty they are—" she began to ramble excitedly, and Gibbs leaned back, patiently allowing the pile of dresses to be chucked at him.

Jenny smiled at him over Madeleine's head, and he smiled back. Neither of them minded if she wanted to put on a little impromptu fashion show—they really _did_ have all night.

* * *

><p>They had all night because Jenny was consumed with strategic planning measures for her next six months. She had operations to outline and evaluate, decisions to make, and intelligence to sort through. When she had asked Gibbs to be available for an extended Skype call—meaning available for alone time after Madeleine went to sleep, he'd jumped at the opportunity, and even though it had seemed weird at first carrying the laptop around and involving Jenny in their nightly routine, it had quickly become slightly natural.<p>

If one of them fell into silence for a bit, it didn't matter—it was just abstractly comforting to have one another available. Madeleine, naturally, was thrilled to death with it, and spent the entire routine boat-sanding half-hour before narrating how to properly take care of _'Daddy's ship.'_

Naturally, as a result of Jenny's availability, Madeleine was up much later than usual. She was finally persuaded to brush her teeth around ten o'clock, and though Gibbs was a little perturbed that she wasn't in bed yet, he figured it didn't matter since she could sleep behind his desk tomorrow. A screwy sleep schedule seemed an acceptable trade for quality time with her mother.

He had sent her to change and get ready for bed while he carried the laptop into his bedroom and set it up with a charger to rest on the empty side of his bed for the night. Jenny was taking a break from her planning and snacking on something that looked foreign and unappealing.

"Be honest, Jethro," she coaxed, tilting her head. "How often does Madeleine do more harm to that boat than good?"

He sighed.

"'Bout fifty percent of the time," he grumbled. "Figure at the rate she sets me back, we'll have it finished by the time she's old enough to date," he faltered, pausing for a moment, and then he finished the sentence with a lot less amusement than it had started with: "Then I can lock her up on it and ship her to sea."

Jenny licked her lips and looked at him quietly.

"Jethro?" she asked.

He reached up and rubbed his forehead, supporting his weight with his elbow. He shook his head silently and then glanced toward the door, looking for Madeleine.

"Nothin'," he placated, waving his hand. "Nothin'. I used to say stuff like that about Kelly," he muttered.

Jenny nodded in sudden understanding—of course, looking that far into the future might make him wary, since Kelly had never lived to reach a dating age. In an attempt to divert him from dwelling on it too much, she lifted her fork and pointed it at him.

"Hey, what's appropriate dating age in _your_ opinion?"

"Eighteen," Gibbs answered grumpily, and he sounded reluctant to even concede that.

Jenny laughed in disbelief.

"Jesus," she snorted. "No, Jethro, be reasonable. It's sixteen at the latest."

"At the latest?" he scoffed indignantly. He turned his head. "Madeleine, are you okay?" He heard her answer in a muffled positive, and then glared back at Jenny. "At the _latest_?" he repeated.

She shrugged.

"I started dating when I was fifteen," she said primly.

Gibbs turned up his nose.

"Look how you turned out," he mocked. "Gettin' knocked up out of wedlock."

She gasped in outrage.

"Would that I could hit you with a damn pillow right now."

He grinned at her wickedly.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Pillow fight _would_ be fun."

Madeleine skipped into the room and threw herself haphazardly onto the bed. She crawled up next to Gibbs and sat near his chest, crossing her legs and peering down at Jenny.

"I had a pillow fight with Emily once," she announced. "But Emily's mommy, you know, the one who is not married to Daddy, she has feathers stuffed all inside her pillows, and they got all over the kitchen, and Emily's mommy got _so_ mad," Madeleine smirked, as if she were proud of herself. "She only yelled at Emily though."

Jenny half-heartedly tried to look stern, and shrugged her shoulders. Gibbs poked Madeleine in the shoulder in a slightly chastising way.

"And you learned not to make a mess at other people's houses," he growled.

Madeleine bounced up and down, waving her hands. She put her arms at angles to her body and waved them, imitating a chicken.

"No, no, Mr. Fornell said we learned how to make Mrs. Di squawk like a chicken!"

Jenny cackled, and Gibbs shot her a glare. That entire incident had been an extremely awkward affair for him, and he wasn't too fond of both Jenny and Tobias getting a total kick out of it. Diane had made him pay to replace the pillows—which he wouldn't have minded if they hadn't ended up costing more than the alimony checks he'd given her before she up and married Tobias.

Madeleine looked pleased at having made Jenny laugh and leaned back against Gibbs.

"Mommy, are you staying for book time?"

Jenny nodded.

"Yes ma'am," she answered promptly. "Then you are going to go to bed, missy, and Daddy and I are going to have some alone time."

Madeleine beamed.

"Too bad you can't kiss each other," she said. "You could kiss Daddy if you come here," Madeleine insisted brightly.

"Some day, honey," Jenny said vaguely.

Madeleine frowned at her, and Gibbs pressed a soft kiss to the back of her head.

"Go grab a book," he said gently, trying to avoid a conversation that wouldn't make anyone happy.

Madeleine perked up and scrambled away to fetch a book for tonight's reading, and Jenny sighed, poking around in her food.

"I thought you said it was getting easier," she murmured.

He shrugged.

"It is, Jen," Gibbs said. "She's happy here, she has friends, and she likes it. It doesn't change the fact that she misses you," he paused, and then he pointed out: "but you should notice she doesn't say she wants to go back to Israel any more. She wants you to come home."

"I know," Jenny said, looking down. "I know, Jethro, I know she wants me to come home. When I finish this mission in the next few months, I'll have a lot more leverage and I might be able to swing a promotion stateside," she paused, and shook her head uncertainly. She looked up. "I don't know."

"You don't know what?" he asked tensely. "You don't _want_ to come home?"

She held out her hand, fork pointing towards her desk.

"What's home?" she asked. "The house my father was murdered in? The house you lived in with Shannon and Kelly?" she tilted her head back, looking up at the ceiling for a moment. He watched her throat move in the pixelated picture as she swallowed. "D.C. hasn't been home since my father died. The only place I felt at home for even a second was in Paris, with you. Before Prague. After Prague—"

She didn't have to remind him that after Prague, everything had fallen apart.

He shrugged harshly.

"I'm _here_, Jen," he reminded her. "If it's me that's home, I'm _here_."

She looked at him intently.

"When I come home, we have to face our relationship," she said hoarsely. "We aren't the same people we were in Paris and I know—I know things have been better since I told you about my father but," she shook her head again, compressing her lips, "but what if we can't work, Jethro?"

He heard Madeleine running in the hallway.

"We can't do this right now," he said gruffly.

She leaned back heavily and shrugged.

"It's never the right time with you," she pointed out dully.

He felt angry suddenly. He felt like he'd given her so much since they had the custody switch up, and he felt like he had done his best to resolve the issues they'd had since Paris. He felt a fleeting desire to hurt her for criticizing him like that—when he was caring for their child, alone, half a world away from her—and he wasn't quick enough to bite back that desire before he lashed out at her.

"Put it in a letter, Jen, maybe then I'll find the right damn _time_ to read it," he snapped.

She looked like she'd been slapped, but she didn't have time to react, because Madeleine reappeared in that instant and crawled back onto the bed. She held up a medium-sized children's book and then a smaller one, looking sly.

"I picked _Goodnight Moon_," she said, "but it's a little bitty book, so I also picked _If You Give a Mouse A Cookie_!" She beamed and shoved the books at Gibbs. "Pick which one Daddy reads first!"

Jenny was still looking at him with a startled, hurt glint in her eyes, and the longer she stared, the worse he felt about what he'd just said. He cleared his throat, and Jenny straightened up a little, leaning forward and putting a bright smile on her face.

"Let's do the Mouse one first!" she said happily. "I haven't read that one!"

Gibbs reached around Madeleine and enveloped her in a hug while he opened the book to read, and Jenny leaned back, the smile still on her face for Madeleine, but her eyes locked firmly on Gibbs'—and he had to deal with the blazing glare while he patiently read to Madeleine.

* * *

><p>He carried Madeleine to bed and tucked her in—she was asleep halfway through <em>Goodnight Moon<em>, but he finished it anyway. When he came back, he shut his bedroom door tightly and stretched out on the bed to face Jenny again. For a moment, there was a tense silence, and she pushed her hair back, leaning on her desk and looking over at him.

"You hold a grudge," she began finally, her voice thick, "better than some women I know."

He sighed heavily. He refrained from pointing out that on the topic of grudge holding, she was almost an expert, considering her career until last year had been about tracking down her father's killer.

Gibbs held up a hand tensely.

"I cut that conversation short because of her," he said gruffly.

"I know," Jenny muttered, rubbing her face. She pointed to her chest. "But one of my many insecurities is the fear that you will play that card to hurt me whenever you get the chance, and I am going to start hating you for it." Jenny licked her lips and looked over at him, her eyes narrowing. "You know once you told me not to be a martyr about it, but you can't let it go. I know I hurt you, Jethro. I've told you I'm sorry, and I regret it, and at the time I thought it was the best decision, but I wouldn't make the same choice again. You make me think you've moved on and then we have the same," she slammed her hand down, "the _same_ damn conversation again."

His shoulders sagged, and he pulled a few pillows under his head, propping his head up and looking at her apologetically. She sighed, glancing away after a moment, and traced her finger in little designs on her knee.

"I love you, Jethro," she said tiredly, looking up honestly. "You have…a lot of power over me in that regard. Being capable of breaking someone's heart…it's like holding a nuclear weapon," she faltered, "and most of the time, I'm scared."

His fingers touched the computer screen, leaving smudges. He didn't say anything for a moment.

"I won't break your heart, Jen," he said gruffly.

She leaned on her desk and rubbed her forehead, smiling at him softly for a moment. Then, she licked her lips, cleared her throat, and raised her eyebrows—and she completely changed the subject.

"What's the verdict on Madeleine overall?" she asked warily. "It's been nearly a month since," Jenny sighed and furrowed her brow. "Haswari," she muttered.

Gibbs hesitated for a moment, and then decided to go with her subject change. He didn't want to start a fight or push her and ruin the time they had. They could deal with it later—after all, they were spectacularly good at dealing with it later.

"She's doin' good," he decided. "She went to a couple sessions with the NCIS psychologist. He said she was fine. She has nightmares 'bout once a week, but it's not anything gruesome, just monsters under the bed. Normal little kid stuff."

"She mentioned a dream about Ari saying she couldn't see you?" prompted Jenny.

"Yeah," Gibbs answered gruffly. His brow furrowed. "But she has that dream as often as she has one where he's takin' her to the park," he growled. "I think she's just trying to figure out what happened."

"Because she trusted him," Jenny murmured.

"Because he showed her the safe sign and then he shot me, Jen," Gibbs lashed out aggressively. "Because she's four-years-old, and she doesn't understand what evil is."

"Evil is a strong word," Jenny placated after a moment.

"Evil," Gibbs barked, "is festering in Haswari's eyes. And you are too blind to see it."

Jenny's face tightened.

"As long as Ziva David trusts that man, I will trust that man," she said firmly.

"Ziva's biased," Gibbs said.

"Ziva brought me home safely when Madeleine was an infant," Jenny reminded him curtly. "Regardless of my professional differences with Ziva, I know on a personal level that she would never let Ari get away with something evil."

Gibbs resisted the urge to say that what Ari had done at NCIS was evil. He swallowed hard and let himself calm down a moment.

"She's okay," he repeated, switching back to talking about Madeleine. "She's not traumatized. She's looking forward to Hanukah." Gibbs smiled suddenly. "Hey, speaking of Ziva—she agreed to talk to Madeleine about Hanukah."

Jenny's brows shot up.

"She _what_?"

Gibbs nodded smugly.

"She's gonna find time to Skype us on the first day and the last," he said. "Took a hell of a lot for me to get in touch with her, but she said she'd do it."

Jenny smiled lightly.

"How did you even find her?" she asked, slightly amazed. "All that trouble for Madeleine? You're outstanding, Jethro."

"It wasn't trouble," he said flippantly. He arched a brow. "And I found Ziva last time I needed to," he remarked.

Jenny flushed slightly—and so he had, when she'd left her vague message for him four years ago and he'd been left to track her down and find her in Israel only to be faced with an accidental pregnancy.

"I'm sure Ziva's acquiescence has a lot to do with the fact that she's shocked a father would go so far," Jenny muttered. "God knows hers never did."

"Tali," grunted Gibbs.

Jenny leaned closer, unsure of what he'd said, and then it clicked and she nodded.

"Tali," she murmured, her eyes flickering sadly. "Ah."

Jenny put her knuckles to her lips for a moment, and then she gave Jethro a curious look.

"Does Madeleine do anything besides pre-school?" she asked.

"Meaning what?"

"Well, I had her in ice skating lessons in Israel," Jenny said. She shrugged. "I just wondered if you'd put her in anything like that."

"Didn't think about it," Gibbs said slowly. "You think she misses skating?"

"I don't know, Jethro, I don't interact with her on a daily basis. She loved it when she was doing it," Jenny said, "but then again, she's little, so her attention span is all over the place." Jenny shrugged. "It might be another good way to get her mind even more off the hostage incident."

"I'll ask her about it," Gibbs agreed. "You do stuff like that when you were a kid?" he asked.

"No," she answered curtly. "When I was young, we weren't even in one place long enough. And my dad was always higher ranking than the other brats', so I wasn't very popular on base."

Gibbs grinned.

"Damn officer's kids," he teased. "Kelly's best friend was an officer's brat."

"Did Kelly do sports?"

Gibbs narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.

"If ballet's a sport," he answered skeptically. "Ballet, piano, and some tennis lessons from her grandmother."

Jenny puckered her lips.

"What a fancy little thing."

Gibbs felt a little uncomfortable hearing Jenny remark on Kelly. He knew she was being kind and she meant no harm, but it just seemed odd to him. He cleared his throat and sat silently for a moment.

"Well, Kelly spent her whole life wanting to be a princess," he said gruffly. He arched an eyebrow. "So far Madeleine's decided on space cadet, Wookiee, goat farmer, and gypsy."

"_Goat_ farmer?" Jenny repeated in disbelief. "What on earth?"

"Abby took her to this petting zoo in Alexandria run by a goat farmer," Gibbs explained, rolling his eyes. "It was all for organic goat milk and goat cheese and stuff, and Emmy came home smelling like a stable and insisting we get a damn _goat_."

"Don't," Jenny forbid warily. "Don't. I hate goats."

"I know," Gibbs answered wryly. "I was in Serbia when that goat went after your blanket, and you screamed the entire country awake."

Jenny gave him an amused, sheepish look, her cheeks flushing. He grinned at her and re-adjusted his pillow.

"I'll look into ice skating," he said. "And baseball or soccer or somethin'," he added, thinking of the old gloves he had in the attic.

"Aw, Jethro," Jenny cooed. "You're wishing you had a boy."

"Nah," he answered, shrugging. "Girls are versatile without gettin' made fun of," he said sagely.

"Mmmhmm," she murmured, cocking a brow pointedly. "You better be happy about that one, Jethro. She's the only one you're getting."

"I guess she'll do," he joked flippantly.

Jenny tilted her head back and laughed. He grinned at her.

"Hey, what are you guys doing for Christmas?" she asked suddenly.

"I'm takin' her to Stillwater," he answered gruffly. "Spending it with my dad."

"That'll be nice," Jenny said warmly. "Should I send my gift to him, or to you?"

"Me," Gibbs answered. "I'll take it with us to Pennsylvania."

Jenny nodded affirmatively. They fell into a comfortable silence, and then he shifted onto his elbow and smirked at her, waiting for her to look back at him and notice he was glaring at her wickedly.

"What?" she asked, catching his eye.

"You gonna take your shirt off or what?" he challenged.

"I'm in my office," she remarked loftily.

"You promised!" he accused.

She leaned back in her chair, lifting her long legs up onto her desk and crossing them at the bare ankle. She reached for the top of her blouse and toyed with the buttons, slowly undoing them, and enjoying the eager look that sprung to his face.

"You know, Jethro, I've warmed up to this Skype sex idea," she murmured suggestively, tilting her head at him. She glanced at him through her lashes. "It's so risk free—no pregnancy, a full guarantee of climax every time—"

"Hey," he growled, offended at the comment.

She smirked.

"I think I might like it more than actual sex," she gasped, slipping her blouse off her shoulders. She traced the outline of her bra before slipping a strap down one shoulder, and making an innocent face at him. "In fact, Jethro, I may never have real sex with you again…"

He glared at her.

"That isn't funny, Jen," he threatened. "That isn't—that's _not_ funny."

* * *

><p>Madeleine was accustomed to waking up around the same time as Gibbs' alarm went off for work, and she was delighted that this Monday happened to be a morning when she woke up before him—meaning she was able to engage in her favorite activity of pouncing on his back.<p>

She hopped out of bed, blinking sleep out of her eyes, and scampered down the hall to his bedroom, throwing open the door and darting in. She leapt onto his bed, crawled over his feet and knelt on his back, shaking his shoulders happily.

"Madeleine, is that _really_ how you wake your father up in the mornings?"

Startled, because she hadn't noticed that the laptop was still in Daddy's bed, Madeleine squeaked in surprise and toppled off of Gibbs' back—partly because he had shifted and she lost her balance, and partly because Jenny surprised her so much.

"Mommy?" she asked incredulously, blinking in surprise. She grinned about a mile wide. "You are still here!"

Jenny yawned, rubbing her eyes. She smiled warmly. Gibbs groaned unhappily at being unceremoniously awakened—contrary to Madeleine's belief, he did not like being pounced on at the crack of dawn no matter how cute the pouncer was—and he rolled onto his back, rubbing his eyes.

"You should be gentler with his back, sweetheart. Daddy's much older than you are," Jenny teased.

"His back is okay, it lets me be carried on it!" Madeleine piped up, sitting cross-legged before the computer and peering closer. "Ima, Ima, did you sleep? Did you go to sleep or did you watch Daddy sleep all night?" she chattered curiously.

"I slept a little," Jenny said, yawning again. She tucked her hair behind her ears and crinkled her nose. "Mostly I listened to Daddy snore."

Madeleine giggled.

"Daddy doesn't snore!"

"He does when he's getting a really good night's sleep," Jenny answered knowledgeable.

Gibbs was still lying on his back pretending to sleep, ignoring them both in an effort to catch a few more moments of shuteye before he had to say goodbye to Jen, get up, and go boss around a bunch of toddlers parading as agents at the Navy Yard. When the girls went silent, he pretended to snore loudly.

Madeleine poked him.

"Aba, wake up. Mommy stayed all night!" she chirped.

He rolled over heavily, pretending he was being dragged out of a deep, deep sleep, and opened his eyes slowly. He smiled at Jenny and reached out to hug Madeleine around the shoulders, pulling her down in front of him and starting to tickle her.

She shrieked with giggles and pleaded with him to stop between peals of laughter. Gibbs sat up and bent over, pretending to growl at her menacingly.

"Stop? You want me to stop? What do you say?" he asked, letting her catch her breath a moment. She bit her lip obstinately, and he attacked her with tickles again—until she finally gave up and squirmed out of his grip, grabbing a pillow and using it as a shield.

"I say _I love you, Daddy_!" she complied wildly, curling under the pillow for shelter.

Gibbs smiled at her and pinched her foot lightly, ceasing his tickle attack. She eyed him suspiciously before she crept closer and snuggled up next to him, facing Jenny again.

"Ugh," she sighed dramatically. "He always does this!"

Jenny laughed, her eyes meeting Gibbs' over Madeleine's head. Gibbs started lazily picking tangles out of Madeleine's hair, gently running through the knots with his fingers. She patiently let him.

"You stayed online after I fell asleep?" he asked mildly.

She arched an eyebrow.

"You were out pretty quickly," she remarked, and he sensed a hint of playful reproach. He smirked and lifted a shoulder.

"Don't tell me you're surprised," he answered dryly. "You were satisfied."

"Luckily," she preened, her tongue hitting her lips pointedly with each syllable.

Madeleine twisted around to look at Gibbs, her eyes wide and innocent.

"Did you and Mommy watch a movie?"

Gibbs nodded vaguely, obviously having no intention of telling her what they'd really been doing, and Madeleine turned back to Jenny, her head tilted.

"What movie? Oz?" she asked perkily.

Jenny clicked her tongue and shook her head.

"_When Harry Met Sally,"_ she deadpanned.

Gibbs glared at her and reached out to clap his hands over Madeleine's ears.

"If that was fake, I'm Queen of England," he growled.

Jenny laughed outright, and Gibbs released Madeleine's head. She shot him a rude look and stood up, hands on her hips.

"Secrets are rude!" she informed him, poking at him with her foot.

"No secrets," Gibbs answered seriously. "Just adult words, Emmy," he placated. He reached up and clasped her hand, leaning forward and placing a chaste kiss on it gallantly. "We've got to say bye bye to Mom, hon," he told her apologetically.

Madeleine fell to her knees, inching close to the screen. She puckered her lips.

"I know," she conceded with a sigh. "We have to go to work, Ima," Madeleine apologized.

"That's okay," Jenny said gently. "I have to meet with my team soon. We'll talk again soon. And I want to hear all about your Hanukah with Ziva!" she added.

"Okay," Madeleine said brightly. "And I will say a prayer for you when Noemi takes me to Mass."

"Thank you," Jenny said demurely. She lifted her hand and waved. "You be good, Madeleine Jane. I love you."

"Yes," Madeleine agreed. "Yes, and I love you."

She blew a kiss, and Jenny turned to Gibbs.

"You take care of yourself too, Jethro," she said pointedly. "Let me know about the sports or lessons."

"Ima," Madeleine said insistently, blowing another kiss.

Jenny smirked and blew a kiss back, sparing one for Gibbs as well.

"Love you both," she signed off flippantly, and the connection fizzled out.

Madeleine stood and grabbed Gibbs' hand, yanking him up into a sitting position—or rather, he let her think she was strong enough to drag him, and sat up on his own. She gave him a vaguely curious look. He yawned slightly and rubbed his jaw.

"Why doesn't Mommy love you?" she asked.

Gibbs furrowed his brow.

"She just said she did," he pointed out.

"Sorta," agreed Madeleine skeptically. "How come you did not say it also?"

Gibbs considered his daughter for a moment, and then shrugged.

"'Cause I'm stupid," he answered. "Go pick out your clothes, Emmy."

* * *

><p>After the third time Gibbs unexpectedly smiled at one of them, and the fifth time Kate and McGee had exchanged warily surprised looks at his general amiability, DiNozzo began to work up the courage to ask the boss why he was in such a good mood. He was planning on being smooth and subtle about it, maybe complimenting Madeleine's cuteness first—because the Bossman really liked to hear people tell him Madeleine was cute—but Gibbs saying thank you when McGee handed him a report was the straw that shocked Tony into blurting out:<p>

"Why're you in such a cheery mood today, Boss?"

Kate and McGee both glared at him like he was crazy, and DiNozzo winced at himself. He swallowed and rummaged around his brain for some joke to make the question seem less goofball-ish.

"Barista slip a little whiskey into your coffee this morning?" he cracked lamely, realizing immediately that insinuating Gibbs was tipsy on the job probably _wasn't_ a good save.

Gibbs fixed a menacing glare on his senior agent, all traces of smiles and '_thank you's_ gone, but before he could punish Tony by ordering him to do something horribly boring like catalog cold cases, Madeleine popped up from behind Gibbs' desk, a crayon in her hand, and stood on her tiptoes to peer at Tony with wide eyes.

"Daddy is Cheerios because he slept with Mommy last night," she announced matter-of-factly.

Completely blindsided, Gibbs turned to look at her, his motions rough and jerky. He ignored the strangled squawking sound DiNozzo made and just _stared_ at Madeleine, lost for words. She obviously didn't understand the double meaning to her innocent words, because in her four-year-old mind he had _literally_ slept with Jenny _in_ the room—by Skype proxy. To the team, however, what she said would be interpreted vastly differently, and essentially Madeleine had opened a can of worms and chucked it into the middle of the bullpen.

He cleared his throat.

"Cheery," he corrected, slightly growly. "Not _Cheerios_."

"_That's_ all you have to say?" Kate asked, arching an eyebrow at him wryly.

Gibbs shot a glare at her, and while she was the one being silently reprimanded, DiNozzo took the moment to cackle.

"That _definitely_ gets me cheery," he quipped—and Gibbs' glare was immediately transferred to him.

DiNozzo tried to hide his smirk, but he couldn't. He raised his eyebrows and held his hands up.

"No shame in it, Gibbs," he said slyly.

"She's _confused_," Gibbs growled.

"No," Madeleine said indignantly. She grabbed onto Gibbs' desk and hopped up, looking at Tony seriously. "No, he did. I wasn't allowed to stay. I had to go to my own bed," she informed patiently.

"Madeleine—"

"Also, Mommy stayed until morning!"

"Madeleine Jane!" Gibbs barked.

She backed up from his desk, giving him a hurt look.

"_What_?" she whined. "Don't tell _lies_, Daddy."

Even McGee had the nerve to laugh—and Gibbs leaned forward and put his head in his hands. He refused to elaborate on the issue, but it didn't matter either way at this point. DiNozzo was going to think up as many salacious scenarios as he possible could, and he was going to flesh out all his theories with Kate later. Gibbs had a little bit more faith in McGee to let personal business be personal, but DiNozzo's influence was quickly taking hold of the geeky agent.

Gibbs, trying to ignore the antics of his team, turned to Madeleine and lowered his voice.

"Madeleine, some things we keep _private_," he said quietly.

"Um," she protested loudly. "You just _talked_ to her," she reminded him, jumping away from him, and putting hands on her hips. "Not like you kissed her face," she retorted sassily, giving him a glare.

"You just _talked_, Gibbs?" DiNozzo cajoled. "What are you, fifteen?"

"You _didn't_ start at _fifteen_, Tony!" Kate asked, outraged.

"Nah, younger," he retorted smugly.

She threw something at him, and Gibbs glared at them briefly before shaking his head at Madeleine. He stood up and took her hand.

"Where are we going?" she demanded.

"Lunch," he grunted vaguely, intent on holing up in the break room for a while and giving her a little chat about keeping her mouth shut when it came to their private lives.

Madeleine ripped her hand out of his and popped her eyebrows up.

"You can't have my mommy in your bed anymore if you're going to be mean," she growled at him pointedly.

Gibbs raised his hand to his forehead in exasperation, even as he was fairly sure the loud thud that sounded was DiNozzo falling out of his chair in a fit of laughter.

* * *

><p>Abby was just about bursting with amusement when Gibbs answered her call later in the afternoon. Madeleine had fallen asleep in her office and was blissfully cuddled up with Bert the Hippo, and Gibbs quickly realized his orders to come see Abby were not case-related.<p>

"Whatcha got, Abs?"

He kept his voice relatively quiet and spared a careful glance for his sleeping daughter.

"No DNA yet," she began slyly and arched an eyebrow. "Just some questions about the rumors your _daughter_ started!"

Gibbs turned on his heel, completely prepared to storm out of the lab, but she laughed lightly and caught his shoulder, pulling him back.

"Aw, poor Gibbs," she cooed. "Embarrassed in the middle of the bullpen—and only Timmy kept his smart mouth shut," Abby sang, obviously having been informed on the morning's events by DiNozzo's loud mouth.

Gibbs gave her a mildly baleful look. She raised her eyebrows.

"Are you using the laptop we all gave you for naughty things, Gibbs?" she prodded wickedly.

"We're not having this conversation," he growled.

"That answers my question," she said primly and released him. She gave him a thumb up and a suggestive wink. "Kids are just wonderful, Gibbs, they say the most hilarious things!"

He made a face, and grumbled—in open disagreement with that statement right now. DiNozzo had pestered Madeleine for more details after she had eaten lunch, but Gibbs' patient entreaties for her to keep his personal life to herself had sunk in and she'd refused to answer, instead focusing on forcing Tim to colour in her Christmas colouring book with her. DiNozzo was sulking, and Kate was quietly _smirking_ about Madeleine's little sharing session.

Gibbs looked at Abby in a bit of a perturbed way.

"She doesn't understand what she said," he said half-heartedly. "What she…implied," he began—but Abby cut him off.

"I know," she said earnestly. "She just thinks it's sweet. She's just excited, Gibbs," Abby smirked and gave him a look. "But I know damn well you weren't just sleeping when you put that kid to bed."

Gibbs forcibly turned Abby back to her computer.

"Don't call me again until you've got DNA," he ordered sheepishly, preparing _again_ to storm out.

"Wait!" Abby called earnestly. "I do have news for you," she bribed, swaying back and forth so that her chains jingled.

He sighed, dragged back by her big puppy eyes. He arched his eyebrows pointedly, waiting for her to go on. She grinned and crooked her finger at him, beckoning him over to her screens. She rearranged some files and pulled up a picture of a litter of small, fluffy puppies.

"I've succeeded in our little mission," she confided wryly. "A friend of mine in West Virginia rescued an abused St. Bernard about a month ago, and she just had puppies. She's giving them away as long as I can vouch for the safety of the new owners, and she's going to charge a small fee for vaccinations."

Gibbs leaned closer, looking at the little puppies—even he had to admit, they were cute. He squinted his eyes, tilting his head.

"Boys or girls?" he asked.

"She has both," Abby answered. "As to which is better, it's hard to say. Males will be more playful and interactive and cheaper to fix, but a female will be easier to train. You should just ask Maddie which kind she wants."

Gibbs nodded curtly.

"When can I pick it up?" he asked.

"Two more weeks, and they can be taken from their mother," Abby answered. "So, right about as Hanukah is ending. And you said you guys are doing presents for Christmas?" she waited for Gibbs to nod, and then went on. "Well, I'm going to visit this friend that weekend, so I can pick up the puppy for you, and I'll keep him or her with me until Christmas."

"Abs, I can get my kid's puppy."

"Yeah? Who's gonna watch her?" Abby asked, arching a brow. She knew Gibbs was incredibly sketchy about leaving Madeleine places overnight. To date he'd only left her with the Fornells, and that was because Fornell was a federal agent.

He muttered incoherently, and she nodded.

"Exactly. I'll pick up the sweet thing and start housebreaking her. I'll bring her over Christmas morning."

Gibbs shook his head.

"I'll have to give it to her the last day of Hanukah, kind of an early gift," he said gruffly. "We're going to Stillwater for Christmas. She can just take the puppy; Dad has a yard," he decided quickly.

Abby turned to him and smiled.

"Ah," she sighed, looking past his shoulder to check on Madeleine briefly before going on, "Yes. Father Gibbs. The only person higher than Jenny on my list of people to meet."

* * *

><p>On the first night of Hanukah, Gibbs felt somewhat out of place as he sat down in front of the laptop for the predetermined call with Ziva. He could easily tell she felt slightly awkward as well; she sat rigidly in front of a coffee table, an assortment of religious items set out in front of her, and her Star of David necklace vividly visible against her neck. She was dressed in her usual cargo pants and slouchy black t-shirt attire, but her hair was wildly about her face rather than up in a business-like ponytail. She eyed him mostly with solemn, intent eyes while they waited for Madeleine to finish changing into a nicer dress—she insisted on looking <em>nice<em> for Hanukah.

"I trust the two of you are well?" Ziva asked mildly.

Gibbs nodded.

He knew the tense air between them was due to Haswari. He didn't bring it up, but he did silently think it was her job to offer the olive branch there—he was her half-brother, after all, and she was the one who had failed to control him. Gibbs knew Ziva would likely never admit to her fault, but he wasn't going to grovel, either.

"Does Madeleine enjoy living in the States?" Ziva asked.

"Seems to," Gibbs grunted.

Ziva's lips twitched in something that yearned to be a smile. Madeleine came running into the hall, spinning around and presenting herself to Gibbs.

"Tie the bow, Daddy," she ordered, bouncing excitedly and making it nearly impossible for him to tie the bow on her immaculate white dress.

When he had ostentatiously adjusted the buttons and smoothed the top of her head, he released her and she whirled to face the computer screen, a smile miles wide lighting up her face.

"Ziva!" she cried, a high-pitched note of happiness in her voice. "Ziva! Ziva!" she kept saying the woman's name, delighted to see her after so long, veritably bubbling over with excitement. It wasn't long before she began chattering in Hebrew, and Gibbs scrutinized the exchange until Ziva finally broke into a grin.

Gibbs smirked triumphantly.

"Shalom," Ziva said patiently, when she could get a word in. "Shalom, Madeleine, ma ha'inyanim?"

"Mamash Tov, mamash tov!" Madeleine chattered, beaming.

After a few moments of this, Ziva switched fluidly back into English, arching her eyebrow.

"Has the sun gone to rest in Washington?" she asked, glancing at Gibbs for confirmation.

He nodded, and Ziva smiled gently.

"Then we may begin Hanukah," she said. "Madeleine, would you like me to tell you the story again?"

Madeleine clapped her hands.

"Ken, ken, Ziva, I love the story!"

Ziva nodded.

"We will begin with the story," she acquiesced. "Gibbs, I am afraid I will speak Hebrew for the majority of this," she warned.

He nodded.

"Go for it," he said gruffly. "I'll let you two do this." He stood up and stepped to the side, looking down at Madeleine with a raised eyebrow. "I'm going to be right over at the table, Emmy," he said, "workin' on some NCIS stuff. Be respectful while Ziva is telling you this story."

"Yes, Aba," Madeleine agreed sweetly, taking his place on the couch and turning her eyes earnestly on Ziva. "Aba has my Menorah for when it's time to light," she said earnestly.

Ziva smiled and inclined her head. She slipped back into Hebrew, and Gibbs retreated to his place at the kitchen table, content to watch from afar as she educated Madeleine in Judaism and helped initiate the first night of the Festival of Lights with her.

Regardless of his disagreements with Ziva concerning Haswari, he was grateful to her for doing this. He knew it was probably difficult for her, and it was far out of character compared to the usual activities she engaged in. On some level, he thought she might enjoy it, but he hardly thought he knew anything about the inner workings of Ziva David's labyrinth of a mind.

Madeleine giggled softly, and gasped, enthralled in the story of Hanukah, and Gibbs smiled at her, not ready to get down to his casework yet. He sat back and watched for a moment, beginning a pro-con list in his head of whether or not he should get out a camera…

* * *

><p>It was hard to tear Madeleine away from Ziva, but after the lighting of the Menorah, Gibbs knew she was getting tired and Ziva was running out of time. Madeleine began to pout and whine sleepily, and folded her arms and sat unhappily in Gibbs' lap.<p>

"I do not want to say goodbye," Madeleine whined.

"We will speak again in seven days," Ziva placated mildly, a small smile on her lips. "The days will pass quickly if you sleep," she added.

Madeleine sighed heavily, blinking her eyes. She snuggled back against Gibbs, looking at Ziva thoughtfully in the flickering candlelight.

"But who will you do candles with, Ziva?" she asked quietly, her eyes wide and perceptive.

Ziva's face was blank for a moment.

"I will light them for you, little one," she said slowly. "I am alone here."

Madeleine leaned forward, her hands on Gibbs' knees.

"Lo," she said quietly. "Light for Tali," she said earnestly, raising her brows. "And I will light for Tali," she added. "_Aht lo leh-vad_," she whispered.

Ziva tilted her head, looking at Madeleine. Gibbs, unsure of what had been said, tilted his own head to look curiously at Madeleine. After a moment, Ziva nodded, her hand rising to rest over her necklace.

"For Talia, then," she agreed quietly.

Madeleine nodded firmly.

"And me for Kelly," she said seriously. "Even if I never seen her."

Gibbs placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed, resting his chin lightly on her head.

"Ziva has to go, baby," he coaxed softly.

The little girl raised her hands.

"Seven days," she said, holding up her fingers. She waved. "Lehitra'ot."

Ziva smiled.

"Lehitra'ot," she replied, and ended the connection.

Gibbs shifted and leaned around to look at Madeleine, smiling at her. He kissed her cheek and let his nose rest there a moment, silently counting his blessings for her. She turned her head, peering directly into his eyes, her nose squashing into his.

"Daddy," she asked. "You okay, Daddy?"

He nodded.

"I miss your sister, Mads," he muttered quietly, a subtle ache flaring in his chest.

"I want Tali," she answered simply. "And Mommy," she added, frowning slightly. "Hanukah is happy but sad," she said perceptively.

Gibbs swallowed hard. He leaned back a little and raised an eyebrow.

"What do we do when we feel sad?" he asked, managing to hide the slight catch in his voice—even if he wasn't prepared for it.

She smiled at him, her nose crinkling.

"Boat!" she answered obediently.

He stood up, transferring her to his hip, and decided he'd let her stay up a little later, just to spend time with her—even if it was a week night, and she had school tomorrow, and he was getting much too lax with bedtime—because he'd already learned once that time was all too precious.

* * *

><p>Madeleine knew she would be receiving a puppy sometime during the Christmas season, but as he watched her chatter way with Ziva on the finale night of Hanukah, Gibbs silently gloated over the fact that in just a few minutes, unbeknownst to her, Abby would show up with the promised dog and make the evening perfect.<p>

Gibbs was hovering in the kitchen, waiting for Abby's call, listening to Ziva and Madeleine talk—they alternated between prayer and soft conversation; English and Hebrew that he couldn't understand.

"Aba lit the menorah for me every night, Tee!" Madeleine was saying, reverting back to use of the old nickname she used to call Ziva when she couldn't quite pronounce the right letter. "He let it be in the basement with the boat, and he made silly shapes with his hands on the wall!"

"Shadow puppets," Ziva said thoughtfully. She held up her hand. "Did your Aba make a rabbit? Or perhaps an alligator?" She chomped her hands in a large motion, and Madeleine giggled.

Gibbs smiled, watching from over near the kitchen, straining to see. Madeleine was snuggled on the couch in a blanket, fully engaged with Ziva and Ziva—Ziva seemed to have miraculously opened up a little. He remembered the days when Jenny had been slightly bothered by Ziva's stark refusal to interact with Maddie, and he wondered if her moment of bonding with Maddie after Tali's death had softened Ziva's feelings towards the child. She had been stiff an awkward at first—but imitating a large lizard in front of a four-year-old was a big step for the stoic Ziva David.

Madeleine dissolved into Hebrew again, just in time for Gibbs' phone to buzz in his pocket. He ignored the call—he didn't need to answer to know it meant Abby was in the driveway—and he slipped out of the kitchen towards the front door.

"Emmy, I'm going to get the mail," he said. "Do not move."

"Yes, Aba," she answered obediently, hardly even turning to glance at him.

He left the front door open and went out into the drive to meet Abby. She waved at him over her car door and then bent back over, hoisting a cozy looking green crate out of the backseat. There were blankets lining the carrier and Gibbs could see a tattered stuffed animal inside.

"Where's the dog, Abs?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

She giggled.

"He's up front!"

Gibbs peered in the front seat to find a fluffy St. Bernard puppy wriggling—in a seatbelt. Trust Abby to buckle a _dog_ in. Gibbs leaned closer, studying the puppy for a moment, and then opened the door and ducked down to unbuckle and pick him up. The puppy started whining at him immediately and licked his face. Gibbs scowled, trying to turn his head away from the assault.

"Aw, Gibbs, he likes you!"

Gibbs held up the dog and examined him.

"So he's a he," he decided, arching a brow. He confirmed _that_ before Abby answered him and tucked the puppy back into his arms. He wagged his tail happily and whimpered at Abby, wriggling around some more.

"Mm-hm, and I picked him because he came right up and sat down at my feet and licked my hand and just cuddled," Abby wrinkled her nose and bent to kiss the puppy's head. "He's just the sweetest thing!"

"And he's gonna get bigger than this?" Gibbs asked skeptically.

She rolled her eyes.

"Yes, Gibbs," Abby answered. "He's a Bernard. He'll be big enough for Madeleine to ride."

"Remind me to get her a saddle for her birthday," Gibbs quipped.

Abby giggled and nodded towards the door. There was a bounce in her step as she started towards his porch; she was clearly thrilled to be apart of giving Madeleine her one Christmas wish. Gibbs let Abby go in before him, and he bothered with shutting the door—the Goth greeted Madeleine brightly, and Gibbs busied himself hovering behind her and trying to keep the puppy somewhat quiet.

"Abby?" questioned Madeleine. "Abby! Are you here for Hanukah? Are you here to meet Ziva? Hi Abby!" Madeleine chattered rapidly.

Abby clasped her hands.

"Well," she said wryly, smiling cheekily, "I'm here to bring you your eighth gift," she said cryptically. "Or, well, I know you're doing gifts for Christmas, not Hanukah, so here's a little surprise one to celebrate both…" Abby trailed off, and stepped out of the way.

On cue, Gibbs strode forward with the puppy, making sure Madeleine could clearly see what was in his arms. Her eyes widened, and she let out an ear-splitting shriek of excitement, leaping to her feet and jumping dangerously on the couch.

"My puppy!" she squealed, holding out her hands. She bent her knees and showed signs of preparing to launch herself over the back of the couch.

"Abby, grab her—" Gibbs warned, his smile fading.

Abby lunged forward, and at the same moment Ziva let out a commanding bark of Hebrew that stopped Madeleine in her hyper tracks. Impressed, Gibbs took three large strides to the back of the couch and raised his eyebrows at Ziva over Madeleine's head. In a nonchalant way, the Mossad officer shrugged

"Thugs in Komemiute are not much different from four-year-olds," she said coolly.

Gibbs grinned, and Abby leaned over the couch to peer at the computer screen. She lifted her hand tentatively and waved; Ziva stared back at her mildly, a flicker of suspicion flaring in her dark, guarded eyes. Gibbs had made her aware that the puppy was coming tonight; he had failed to warn her that there would be other company—and Ziva was notoriously uncomfortable with strange people.

"Madeleine," Gibbs said gently but firmly. "Your screaming scares the puppy. He's not used to so many people, and he misses his mommy, okay? Be gentle and sweet."

He delicately placed the puppy on the couch with his daughter; the dog sidled up to her and eyed her with happy, puppy eyes. It wriggled and whimpered, seeking contact—which she gladly gave in the form of butterfly kisses and soft coos and pats.

"I'm Abby," the scientist introduced herself. "You must be Ziva?"

"I am Ziva," she allowed cautiously. Ziva was silent for a moment, and then cocked her head. "If I recall, you are the one who arranged for Madeleine to see Gibbs on Christmas, when she lived in Israel."

Abby nodded, smiling warmly.

"Yes! I," she paused, and her smile faded a little. "I met Tali," she said, faltering.

Ziva said nothing at the mention of her dead sister's name; instead, she squinted her eyes.

"May I ask why you are wearing the dog's collar?"

Confused, Abby touched the spiked ornament on her neck.

"This is my—?" she began uncertainly, but Gibbs cut her off with a snort, shaking his head.

"It's a style, Ziva. Hers is made for people."

"Strange," Ziva murmured, though she sounded fascinated.

"Ziva," wailed Madeleine quietly. "Oh, Tee, look at my puppy, look," she broke into Hebrew for a moment, and then slurred rapidly back into English: "…and cuddly and soft and…" she faded back into Hebrew, then to English, and Gibbs cleared his throat.

"Pick a language, Emmy, you're givin' me a headache."

"Perhaps Russian, Gibbs?" Ziva asked wryly. "Ah, or—parlez-vous Francais?"

"None of that," growled Gibbs pointedly, cocking an eyebrow. The less exposed Madeleine was to _French_ and _Paris_ and anything of that sort, the better, as far as he was concerned. He and Jen still had to sort out what exactly they were going to tell her when she started asking how the met.

"Abby, why is my puppy crying?" Madeleine asked softly.

"Oh, he's okay," Abby said, coming around and perching on the couch. "He's just overwhelmed and a little scared. It's a cute, curious little whine, not a sad, hurt one. Here," Abby lifted the puppy and helped him settle into Madeleine's lap, making sure she was holding him carefully and not hurting him. She showed her how to stroke his fur kindly and smiled.

Madeleine beamed, her nose crinkling, and looked over at Ziva.

"He is to protect me from Ari, you know," she informed her seriously, but raised her brows and giggled, "but you helped name him, and that is weird!"

Gibbs leaned down.

"Ziva helped name the puppy?" he asked, tilting his head and running his hand over Madeleine's hair. "You didn't even know if it was a boy or a girl, Princess."

"No! But Ziva 'n' me talked, and it was Glenda if a girl, and it's a boy, so his name is Oz," Madeleine said proudly. "Oz the Great and Powerful!" she cried excitedly, and then widened her eyes and lowered her voice and cuddled back down in a heap with the puppy. "And Aba I want some sparkle red shoes for Christmas so me 'n' Oz can follow the yellow brick road and at the end maybe there will be Ziva and Mama."

She stumbled over her run-on sentence, and Gibbs smiled, tilting his head at Ziva. He hadn't expected the name at all, but he liked it—and he remembered watching a Hebrew dubbed version of _The Wizard of Oz_ with Madeleine when she'd been recovering from her appendix surgery. He had thought she should be scared, as Kelly had always been, but he now remembered she'd always loved it. He had also thought the movie was Tali's, or at the least Jenny's. Now—

"It is my favorite movie," Ziva revealed mildly, without much trace of emotion. Gibbs saw a vague light in her eyes. "I am sure you would look lovely in Dorothy's red slippers, Madeleine," she complimented. The young Israeli leaned forward, apology in her eyes. "I am afraid I must go, Madeleine," she said.

Madeleine's face fell and she sat up, leaning back into the couch, her hand still clutching very gently at the puppy's fur.

"Ziva, don't," she murmured.

"Hanukah is over here," Ziva answered. "And I must work. It is late for you to be up," she added warily.

Madeleine's lip trembled. Gibbs leaned closer and kissed her cheek.

"Don't cry, honey," he mumbled in her ear. "You'll see Ziva again."

"Maybe not," Madeleine whined. "Ziva, will I?"

"Perhaps," Ziva answered slowly. Her eyes were guarded. "I cannot say, Madeleine, and I will not make promises to you. I am not capable of keeping them. I am not your mother."

Madeleine curled up. She looked at Ziva quietly.

"_Toda_," she said unexpectedly. "Thank you."

It brought a smile to Ziva's lips, and she leaned forward, touching the pads of her fingers to her mouth.

"Shalom, neshomelah," she said quietly, her hair framing her face. "You are untouchable, remember."

She met Gibbs' eyes over Madeleine's head, and for a moment he was looking into the same pained expression he'd seen months ago just after Tali's death, when he had tried to comfort Ziva as she collapsed sobbing into her sister's ruined bedroom. But the look faded quickly, and Ziva's face was a cool mask again, giving him just enough time to feel a little heartache for how alone she really was in her _home_—and then she had killed the connection, and he, Abby, and Madeleine were alone with a brand new, nervous, eager little St. Bernard Puppy.

"Oz," Madeleine murmured. She buried her nose in the dog's fur and then hopped up and hugged Abby—and then turned around and hugged her father, too, pressing her nose into his cheek. "_Toda_, _toda_, _toda_, Aba," she sang happily, her eyes bright. "Is it Christmas now?"

He grinned at her and ruffled her hair—eternally thankful for the resilience of children.

* * *

><p>Two days before Christmas, Gibbs peered over the edge of his desk to the middle of the bullpen. He cleared his throat, and raised a mildly chastising eyebrow to his daughter when she whipped around and looked at him.<p>

"Madeleine," he growled patiently. "You only give Oz treats when he listens to you," he reminded her.

Madeleine grabbed Oz and dragged him unceremoniously into her lap, where he yapped excitedly and then licked her right in the mouth. Gibbs winced, Madeleine giggled, and then she toppled over backwards and looked up at him while Oz pounced all over her.

"But Daddy," she squealed, laughing as he tickled her. "Oz has cutesy eyes!"

Gibbs looked at her skeptically. Hell, if he gave Madeleine everything she wanted just because she was cute, she would be a spoiled rotten nightmare. He shook his head and abandoned what he was doing, coming around the desk. He crouched down and picked up the container of treats he'd cautiously let her have; obviously not even a slight bit of training was getting done. He afforded Oz a quick rub behind the ears and then stood back up, putting the treats on his desk.

"Too many treats will make him sick," he muttered.

"He is happy, Daddy," Madeleine said, rolling onto her hands and knees and prancing around with Oz as if she were a dog, too. "He is not scared anymore because Pony is gone," she added smugly.

Gibbs smirked and went back to finish cleaning up his files, locking his desk, and shutting down his computer. They had the dog at work because they were leaving straight from the Navy Yard to drive to Pennsylvania, and upon his first meeting with DiNozzo, Oz had immediately taken an extreme dislike to the agent and resorted to whining and growling in a corner for as long as DiNozzo was in the bullpen. Kate and McGee, Oz was amenable to, but for some reason, Tony he hated.

"Aw, Ozzie," Madeleine cooed. "You will like Pony soon. I was scared of Pony at first. I was scared of all the team people!" she explained, letting out a mild bark in between her sentences. "But they brought me McDonalds," she added. "Daddy. Can we get Oz McDonald's?"

"No people food for the puppy," Gibbs reiterated.

"_You_ gave 'im a steak bone."

"That's different," Gibbs muttered, making sure all this stuff was saved on the PC. Madeleine made a huffy sighing noise and Gibbs glanced around to make sure he was getting everything. Oz let out a bark and pranced away from Madeleine, his tattered stuffed toy suddenly in his mouth again—Madeleine must have retrieved it from under McGee's desk.

Oz was working out well for him and Madeleine. He was rambunctious and a bit unruly, as puppies were expected to be, but he was relatively easy to train. Gibbs was making plenty of leeway with him. Noemi was glad to babysit the puppy during the workday, and once he got home, Gibbs mandated he got an hour with the dog training him before Madeleine could have him to play. So far, Oz had mastered _sit_ perfectly, and he was slowly getting the hang of the order to _come—_as long as nothing else caught his attention. Housebreaking was shaping up to be a bit of a struggle, but as he had no fancy carpet and he'd changed more than a few diapers in his day, Gibbs didn't really mind. He expected he'd get a lot of good training done while they were in Stillwater.

Madeleine _completely_ adored the puppy. She had pouted when told he couldn't sleep in her room until housebroken, but other than that she was wrapped up in playing with him and helping take care of him. She loved him to smithereens and even Jenny, who was decidedly _not_ a dog person, had smiled to see Madeleine so thrilled.

"Leaving soon, Daddy?" Madeleine piped up, standing in front of his desk.

Oz was chewing on his tail. Gibbs snapped his fingers at the dog.

"Quit that," he ordered firmly. He met Madeleine's eyes. "Few more minutes, honey," he said, narrowing his eyes at his computer. It was suggesting he hadn't saved any of his files, and he was just about to lose his cool and start cursing—even with Madeleine standing there—when everything finally saved.

"Your computer okay, Boss?" McGee asked, strolling into the bullpen ahead of the others. He had recognized the murderous look beginning to dawn.

Gibbs glared at his screen for a moment more before slowly nodding. He looked up, and did a double take. McGee was wearing—

"Got a Christmas feast to get to, Elf Lord?" Gibbs quipped dryly, noting the stupid foam ears on his junior agent's head.

McGee flushed.

"Uh," he began, just as Oz noticed him and bounded over, rolling like a pile of malleable fur into the agent's feet. McGee crouched down, and Tony came parading around the corner in a set of elf ears himself, followed by Kate—who was notably more subdued.

Gibbs glanced at them warily—and then glanced warily at Oz to make sure he hadn't noticed DiNozzo yet. Madeleine giggled and twirled to look at them, placing her hands on her hips and tossing her head.

"Ya'll look silly," she drawled, prompting Gibbs to raise his eyebrows at her accent. She must've picked it up in preschool, or in some movie, and found it funny enough to imitate. If Jenny heard it, she'd have a stroke.

Tony clasped his heart, looking mortally offended.

"That's the thanks we get?" he asked quietly, his eyes wide and hurt. "For giving you your first real Christmas?"

Gibbs looked at them warily, a little rankled by the notion that she'd never had a real Christmas before. He and Jenny had done plenty to make sure the holiday was special, even if it had been small and intimate. Kate noticed Gibbs' look and elbowed Tony hard in the stomach, tilting her head at Gibbs diplomatically.

"He's talking about Santa," she said, smiling wryly and holding out her hand. On cue, Abby came prancing in dressed as a feminized Santa—although she had opted to keep a glittery white cotton ball beard.

Madeleine jumped up and down, clasping her hands together.

"Abby!" she laughed.

Gibbs folded his arms and leaned back against his desk. He had told the team explicitly not to get Madeleine any gifts for Christmas, but even as he'd been saying it he'd sensed it was a futile request. He knew they were disappointed he'd chosen to disappear to Pennsylvania for Christmas, and he had half-expected something like this to occur. Just yesterday, before Ducky had left to take his mother on her customary Christmas cruise, the old doctor had given Madeleine a beautiful bound copy of _The Chronicles of Narnia_, and Gibbs had explicit orders to begin reading the books to her for the New Year.

Abby turned to Gibbs, her eyes sparkling.

"I know what you said, Gibbs," she said earnestly. "I just couldn't listen to you. We love her. We got her gifts," she said, and she shrugged, and dropped to her knees gracefully, taking a large stocking-shaped furry bag off of her shoulder.

Oz hopped up from McGee's feet and immediately attacked the fuzz, growling. Gibbs didn't miss DiNozzo watching the pup suspiciously. Abby rummaged through her bag, and presented Madeleine with a small gift.

"This is from Elf Kate," she said warmly, and Kate crouched down next to Madeleine to watch her open the present.

Madeleine looked over at Gibbs uncertainly. He nodded to encourage her, and she tore into the present. Out tumbled a pair of flashy, animal print kids' sunglasses, a tiara, and a set of plastic beauty supplies. Madeleine's smile lit up her face and she squealed quietly, bouncing around Kate for a moment until she finally managed to hug her.

Kate smiled and placed the tiara delicately on Madeleine's head. Madeleine slipped the sunglasses on and pursed her lips, holding the beauty tools in the purse they came in.

"I am fabulous," she stated.

Kate snorted and pulled her own sunglasses from her pocket.

"We match," she said, though hers were obviously far more expensive.

"Thank you, Elf Kate," Madeleine said sweetly, swooping forward and placing a peck on Kate's cheek. She whirled on Oz. "Oz, I shall put bows in your tail and ears!" she cooed.

"No," Gibbs interrupted mildly. "You won't. The clips'll hurt 'im."

Madeleine flounced around and grabbed Oz up, shooting Gibbs a sly look.

"Then the bows are for your hair, Daddy," she said wickedly.

Gibbs winced, and decided not to feed into it—he was too busy ignoring the gleeful look DiNozzo was giving him.

"Let Abby Claus see what's next," Abby said, pretending to rummage in the depths of her bag again. She grasped something, pulled it out in the most suspenseful manner possible, and presented it gallantly to Madeleine. "From Elf Tim: here you are."

Kate moved to let Tim take her place with Madeleine, and McGee did the honors of puling the bow wrapping up the plastic container his gift was in. Madeleine tore the paper away, and blinked in wonder at what was in her hands.

"Star Wars," she chirped, correctly identifying the brand. "Star Wars whats?" she asked shyly.

"Cookie cutters," McGee said brightly. He pointed to the packaging. "Threepio, and Chewey, and Artoo," he listed. "So you can make Christmas cookies Star Wars style!"

Gibbs arched an eyebrow—typical of McGee to make sure Madeleine clung to her love of Star Wars. It was one of the many things those two bonded over, and it seemed fitting. Not too terribly nerdy, but thoughtful all the same.

"I have never baked cookies," Madeleine said.

"Do or do not, there is no try," quipped Tim—and she darted forward to hug him, her tiara falling over her eyes. He grinned and helped her readjust it. "Merry Christmas, Maddie," he said.

She beamed at him, and Abby caught Gibbs glancing at his watch. Without further adieu, she swept into her back and plucked out a large plush—stuffed animal? Gibbs almost groaned; Madeleine had hundreds of stuffed animals!

"From me, Abby Claus," Abby said, tearing a Velcro strip off the animal, "is a Pillow Pet!" She showed Madeleine how it could be bundled up to hold a blanket, or spread out to serve as a naptime aid. Gibbs changed his mind—it would be perfect for the car ride to Stillwater.

"I bought one last week," Abby was saying happily. "I love her; she's a Panda named Millicent. What are you going to name your pretty piggy? Babe?"

"No, no, there's already a Babe!" Madeleine cried happily, trying to hold on to all her new things. She smiled primly. "Pretty piggy pillow pet is named Ziva," she preened, "because _pretty_."

"Who's Ziva?" Tony piped up, confused.

"Ziva is pretty," Madeleine answered blithely. "Tony, marry Ziva, then she may live here. Daddy, Tony should marry Ziva."

Gibbs laughed out loud.

"Yeah, good one," he said dryly—the very _idea _of Mossad's finest in the same room with Playboy Tony DiNozzo was hysterical.

Abby giggled.

"It's a good name," she whispered, reaching for the last object. "Last but not least is Elf King Tony's present," she said, yanking a basket dramatically from her red bag.

It looked simple; just a plain wooden picnic basket, but Madeleine quickly recognized it as a version of Dorothy's little basket from The Wizard of Oz. She hopped over to retrieve it and fell backwards onto her butt, hugging it. Oz bounded up curiously and began sniffing and licking both the basket and her.

"I put the DVD inside it," Tony burst out, unable to wait. He crouched down and opened a flap, showing Madeleine the new version of the restored DVD he'd bought her. "So you can watch it on Christmas with Oz."

The dog, perking up at his name, took one look at Tony and darted behind Madeleine. He growled.

Madeleine threw herself into Tony's chest and hugged him.

Gibbs looked on from his position at his desk as the team wished happy holidays to his daughter and helped her gather up her new gifts. Abby placed her Santa hat on Madeleine's head, and Kate bestowed her elf ears, decking Madeleine out in Christmas cheer from head to toe. They each hugged her, Abby kissed her, and then they stood, and let Gibbs come forward to grab her.

He tried to give them stern, reprimanding looks, but Madeleine looked so blissfully happy that he couldn't be mad at their flouting of his orders. He was glad she had this kind of support, this sort of extended family. It helped fill the void that Jenny's absence left, and even though none of these people replaced her mother, each one of them helped her to live with the reality of Jenny not being in her life.

"Good work," he said gruffly, nodding his head.

With the same gruffness and nonchalance, they all wished him Merry Christmas—all except for Abby, who threw her arms around him in a hug.

"Merry Christmas, Gibbs," she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "You get away with hiding your father from us this year, but you can't hide him from me forever," she hissed, squeezing his arms.

Madeleine looked up at Gibbs, eyes bright under her new tiara, her arms laden with her new gifts, and she smiled at him while Oz wriggled and panted and wagged his tail at her feet. Gibbs lowered himself to eye-level with his daughter, leaned forward, and pushed her hair back, careful not to disturb the crown. He kissed her on the nose for the whole team to see and raised his eyebrows.

"Ready to hit the road, Jack?"

She giggled.

"Daddy, my name isn't Jack!"

He smirked, and stood up, beckoning to her. The car was all packed—down to the tricycle, package from Jen, and another unmarked, unexpected package he had waiting for Christmas morning in Stillwater. She took his hand and twirled, looking up at the team.

"I will see you at New Year's, yes?" she asked.

"Oh boy, _yeah_," Tony answered smugly, pointing at her and winking. "You and me, we got a Candyland tournament to play!"

* * *

><p>It was a white Christmas in Pennsylvania, and as there had been no snow in D.C. yet this season, Madeleine was completely fascinated by the freezing, fluffy white blanket that shrouded the earth—fascinated enough to charge barefoot into the front yard and then dash, yelping about the cold, back into Gibbs' knees and attempt to scale him like Mt. Everest.<p>

"I hate it!" she shouted, as soon as she was tucked safely in Gibbs' arms far above the frosty bite of the fresh fallen snow.

Gibbs laughed and crinkled his nose.

"It's more fun when you've got your gear on, Emmy," he promised. He took her back into the house, placing her on the warm, dry carpet. He arched an eyebrow at her. "Go warm your feet by the fire," he suggested. "Dad," he called, turning towards the kitchen. "Hey, Dad—bring me a pan."

He heard the clanging around that meant Jackson Gibbs was pulling a pan off of the hooks in the pantry.

"We got any syrup?" Gibbs asked his father, as the older man came in with the requested pan.

"'Course I got syrup," Jackson answered gruffly. "I run a general store, don't I?" He turned to Madeleine and raised his eyebrows. "You want maple, you want blueberry, coconut, strawberry? You want sorghum?—pick your poison."

"Pancakes?" Madeleine asked hopefully.

"No," Gibbs grunted. "Better." He shot Jackson a look. "Maple," he decided, rolling his eyes. "Stick with the tradition, jeez," he said, shaking his head at the other flavor suggestions.

Jackson chuckled.

"Then I reckon you'll want hot chocolate with presents," he said. "Like your mom used to do? Before you decided you hated Christmas?" he prodded.

Gibbs gave him a look, but merely nodded.

"Hot chocolate," he agreed, pointing his thumb at Madeleine. "Coffee for me."

Jackson nodded and ruffled Madeleine's hair.

"Then later we have ham and eggs and biscuits and gravy for breakfast," he said. "Sound good?"

"Yum!" Madeleine agreed, hopping up and down. She clapped her hands together and looked at the pan in Gibbs' hands. "What's it for, then?" she asked.

"Candy," he answered ominously, beckoning. "C'mon, we're gonna _make_ it," he said, strolling back over to go out into the front yard.

Oz was snuffling around the porch, knee-deep in snow and happy as a clam just to be outside. He barked and wagged his tail enthusiastically when Gibbs came out, and bounded up the steps to Madeleine. Madeleine giggled but stayed just inside the door, wrapping her arms around herself and shivering.

"Daddy, it's cold!" she giggled.

"Just a sec, hon," he placated, busy packing snow tightly into the pan. He shook off Oz impatiently when the puppy tried to eat snow from the pan, and finished smoothing off the edges so the pan looked like it was stuffed full with a pure white cake. He ordered the dog into the house and came in, taking Madeleine's hand and leading both his daughter and the frolicking puppy into the kitchen.

"Syrup's on the counter," Jackson said, pointing from his place at the stove. The kitchen smelled like rich hot chocolate, and Madeleine scrambled up next to Gibbs to see what he was doing. She rose on tiptoes and tried to grab the counter—and Jackson, seeing her, swept her up and perched her on top of it next to the sink.

"What are we doing?" Madeleine asked, kicking her feet.

Gibbs glanced down as the puppy hopped around his feet, making sure he was avoiding stepping on the dog.

"We," he began, unscrewing the top of the maple syrup bottle, "are making candy the old-fashioned way!"

He turned and poured the syrup into a pot Jackson had sitting out, turning the stove on as high as possible. He glanced over to see what kind of hot chocolate his father was making, and was pleased to find it was peppermint—Madeleine had a real sweet tooth for peppermints.

Madeleine cocked her head at him as he got out a whisk and poked the simmering syrup with it.

"How?"

"I'm gonna boil this maple syrup until it's hotter than Israel," he explained promptly, "and then we're gonna squiggle it in shapes on that snow and let it sit for a minute until it's chewy, then we'll pull it off the snow and eat it."

Madeleine raised her eyebrows.

"Pancake candy!" she decided, connecting the syrup with her favorite breakfast food. She wrapped her arms around herself in a hug. "Can we make a heart shape?"

Gibbs held up the whisk.

"Squiggles work better," he said dryly.

Madeleine giggled. Jackson turned away from the stove and crouched down, picking up the puppy and moseying over to stand with Madeleine. She reached out to scratch Oz's ears, and Jackson grinned fondly, leaning next to her and watching Gibbs boil the syrup.

"I just can't believe you're not squealin' at him for presents," Jackson marveled. "Didn't even wake up early, did you?"

"I woke up when I woke up!"

"Yeah, 'bout nine o'clock," Jackson mused. "I remember, his little Kelly used to—"

Jackson abruptly stopped talking, as if he'd slipped up. He realized he didn't know if his son readily talked about Kelly. Before the first half a year ago when Leroy had told him about Madeleine, they hadn't spoke since the funeral—and Leroy had been utterly silent at the funeral.

Gibbs glanced over his shoulder and met Jackson's eyes for a moment.

"She used to what?" he asked hoarsely.

There were two Christmases during which he'd been deployed; one when she was four years old, and one when she was—right before she died. Those Christmases Kelly and Shannon had spent in Stillwater so Jackson could see his granddaughter, because back then Gibbs preferred dealing with his mother-in-law over interacting with his father.

"Run through the house," Jackson said gently. "Yellin' that Santa had been here."

"Santa isn't real," Madeleine said mildly.

"Maybe not," Jackson said, shrugging lightly. "But Kelly died believin' in him."

Gibbs turned his back and lifted his hand to his face, rubbing his forehead. He poked and stirred at the syrup for a moment, and then looked over and checked on the hot chocolate Jackson was simmering on the next burner.

"Pops," Madeleine said. She leaned forward and hung on both him and the puppy he was holding for her. "It makes Daddy _sad_," she said earnestly.

Jackson frowned gently, but before he could say anything, Gibbs turned around with the syrup ready, cleared his throat, and looked straight at his father—as if he had steeled himself for something.

"What was that last Christmas like?" he asked gruffly.

He muscled in near the pan of snow, surrounded by Madeleine, his father, and the puppy, and nudged Madeleine's foot so she could watch him drizzle syrup thickly on the snow. There was silence for a moment, while Jackson dealt with his surprise that Gibbs hadn't ignored the conversation.

"It was good," Jackson said slowly. "No…it was _real_ good. Kelly was real happy. Shannon got her one of those dolls that looked like 'er. And we went sleddin'," Jackson paused. He smiled nostalgically. "And—she made a snow angel to watch over you."

Madeleine was leaning on Gibbs' arm, looking eagerly at the gooey, hardening drizzle of maple syrup. She quietly rested her chin on his arm, green eyes bright, and kicked her feet lightly to a rhythm in her own head.

"Angels live in heaven, Daddy," she said. "Tali told me so. Noemi, too."

Gibbs nodded. Jackson scratched the puppy's ears and leaned forward, peering at Madeleine.

"Doll looked a lot like you do," he remarked, and then looked back at Gibbs. "You ever see that doll?"

He didn't answer for a moment.

"Yeah," he said finally. "Yeah."

Jackson lowered his voice.

"You think Emmy might like it?" he asked.

Gibbs shook his head slightly, his dropping the whisk into the syrup and pushing the pot away. He leaned forward, eyes on the candy, and reached out absently, resting his palm on Madeleine's head.

"No," he answered quietly. "It was in the car," he remembered.

The first time he'd ever seen that doll that looked like Kelly, it had been a little burned, a leg had been broken off, and it's eyes had been staring glassily from an evidence box in the NCIS locker. He pushed the thoughts from his mind and turned to Madeleine, picking her up and holding her on his hip. He pressed his lips to the side of her head and pointed at the pan of snow. He took her hand and helped her peel off some of the homemade candy, taking comfort in they way she smiled and giggled when she tasted it.

Jackson reached out and clapped Gibbs on the back, squeezing his shoulder. Gibbs watched Madeleine munch on the snack, smiling at him, and he finally smiled back. He cocked his head when he heard whistling from the stove.

"Hot chocolate?" he asked, looking from Madeleine and Jackson.

"And presents," Madeleine piped up—and she beamed.

* * *

><p>The fire was roaring in the cozy, old living room Gibbs remembered from childhood. He hadn't enjoyed a Christmas in it since his mother had died, but on this simple morning, with just his daughter and his father, he was enjoying it—really enjoying it. His relationship with Jackson was on the mend, and he was glad. Something told him that the more he healed his relationships with the people he had shut out, the closer he was getting to being able to get something stable with Jenny.<p>

Madeleine was currently perched atop her new green tricycle, ringing the bell with a delighted smile on her face. She had plopped the bow down on Oz's head, and he was leaping at her feet and whining as she rang the bell.

Jackson chuckled, busy balancing both his hot chocolate and Madeleine's on his knees.

"Easy with that bell, sweetheart," he said. "I'm too old for that racket!"

She stopped ringing the bell and hopped off, prancing over to Gibbs.

"Thank you, Daddy," she said, hanging onto his knee. "When I am five, we can take the baby wheels off!"

"Before then, if you're real good," he joked, having little intention of taking her training wheels off before she was at least six.

Madeleine laughed at him. Gibbs cleared his throat and pointed at Jackson, and Madeleine went over to him. She put her hand on his shoulder, and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you, Pops," she said sweetly, fluttering her lashes. "I like the dollhouse. Oz fits inside it!"

"Not for long, he won't," Jackson laughed, giving her a crinkly smile. "But, it's good for those little shortcake dolls, or Barbies," he said.

"Barbie and G.I. Joe," snickered Madeleine.

Jackson helped her take a sip of her hot chocolate.

"You sure got a lot of goodies from that mom of yours," Jackson said.

"Yes," Madeleine agreed, her face lighting up. "Pretty shoes and clothes and pretty Egyptian fairy tales. She still knows my size," Madeleine prattled. "She misses me a lot," she added.

"I bet," agreed Jackson. "Who wouldn't?"

Madeleine laughed.

Gibbs leaned forward, taking from behind his back the unmarked, mysterious package that had arrived with simply his address on it a day before they left. He held it out in front of him, turning it in his hands, and then whistled for Madeleine's attention. Both she and Oz came over. Madeleine leaned on his knee, and then crawled up beside him.

"Who is this from?" she asked.

"Dunno," Gibbs answered, arching his brows. "Wanna open it?"

Madeleine hoisted Oz lazily onto the couch, into her lap, and nodded. Jackson watched quietly as Gibbs pulled his pocketknife out and carefully opened the packaging. Inside, among a lot of white straw padding, were two little bundles wrapped in soft blue tissue paper.

"Israel," Madeleine noted wisely.

Something clicked in Gibbs' head. He picked up the first little bundle and unrolled it, and in his hands gleamed two light, silver dreidels with colourful, sparkling Hebrew letters carved on the sides. He held them up, looked at them, and handed them carefully to Madeleine.

"Dreidels!" she crooned. "Daddy, is this from Ziva?"

"Looks like it," he murmured, opening the next bundle.

To his surprise, a delicate gold chain tumbled into his hand, and he found he was holding a familiar looking Star of David necklace. He stared for a moment, frozen in thought, and turned to Madeleine, showing her what it was. Madeleine looked at it, her eyes wide, and then plucked a folded piece of paper out of the box.

Gibbs was at first dismayed to see that the lettering on it was all Hebrew.

"Tali," Madeleine said, pointing at some of the unintelligible symbols. "Tali," she said again. "Madeleine," she added, pointing to another grouping. "Ziva," she added—and as she waved the paper, Gibbs noticed there was English on the back.

Jackson leaned forward as Gibbs took the letter.

"Let me see that, Madeleine," he said quietly. "Oh, that's pretty. Who's this Ziva?"

Madeleine gasped and began to talk rapidly about Ziva, while Gibbs narrowed his eyes intently and held the letter close to his face, scanning the neat, perfect English Ziva had provided for him.

_Jethro,_

_These dreidels belonged to Tali. I wish them to be Madeleine's now. Tali, I know, would have wished it. She played them with Madeleine each year she was here. I have also enclosed Tali's Star of David necklace. It was given to her by our mother, as was mine. I hesitated to entrust this heirloom to Madeleine. It may seem strange or inappropriate; but it is as it should be. The necklace should have gone to Tali's daughter. Tali wanted nothing more than to have children. Madeleine is the closest she ever got. These items were a part of Tali as they are a part of Judaism, and as Madeleine chooses to practice Tali's religion, it is only fitting that she possesses my sister's belongings. Tali brought Madeleine to her faith; Madeleine should inherit her keepsakes._

_Keep them Close._

_-Ziva David_

Gibbs rubbed his mouth, eyes running over the letter again, and then he turned to Madeleine and took the necklace gently, placing it lightly around her neck and fastening. He held up the letter to her, his brows raised.

"Emmy," he said. "Emmy, Ziva is giving you Tali's necklace," he said pointedly. "It's very special. It's very important to Ziva," he explained.

Madeleine nodded at him, holding the dreidels protectively in her hand. She looked overwhelmed, and slid off the couch.

"Pops," she said. "Pops, may I show you how to play?"

Jackson naturally acquiesced, and Gibbs watched them start, smirking absently as they encountered problems when Oz tried to go after the toys. His eyes fell to the necklace now dangling around Madeleine's neck, and he thought about all that had happened since they'd left Israel after Tali's death.

He thought about his own family, and what Jackson had told him about their last Christmas. It was a comfort to know they had been happy, that the last holiday had been enjoyable for them. And—strangely enough—he suddenly realized he wasn't in _pain_. He was remembering them, Shannon and Kelly, and he missed them dearly, but he wasn't suffering, he wasn't feeling the suffocating need to block them out or drown himself in liquor.

He rubbed his mouth again.

He got off the couch and sat down with his father and Madeleine, pulling her into his lap and watching the dreidel spin in front of the fire and the Christmas tree. It was so unorthodox, so strange and untraditional, but he saw quite clearly for a moment that he was happy.

He pressed a kiss to Madeleine's head.

"Three hours until we can call Mommy," he told her gruffly, and reached out to help spin a dreidel again.

In three days, they'd leave Stillwater for New Year's in D.C., where Tony and his promised Candyland tournament awaited, and the team was eager to ring in the New Year with Madeleine. For the first time in so many years, he looked forward to the upcoming year with complete optimism, because even though he had been better since Madeleine was born, it wasn't until now that he had felt like it was all going to turn out _well_.

* * *

><p><strong> End: December, 2004<strong>

_I know that some chapters span over a month and some span over half a year or a year, but that's just how it works out. We're closing in on the end of the story, actually-next chapter starts 2005, which of course is the year Jenny becomes Director (in the series, that is). But is that what's going to happen here? You don't know, do you? /wink/. But, regardless of that...she may make an appearance..._

_*Once again, most of the dialogue from Bete Noire is taking DIRECTLY from that episode. _

_-Alexandra  
>-thanks for still reading, you loyal friends! <em>


	13. Shalosh-esreh

_A/N: Less than a month; I'm getting kind of good at this, don't you think? I swore I'd get it finished and ready to post for finals week, and voila! I've come through! I've been waiting to write this chapter for a long time, and I think ya'll are really going to like it. Now all that's left is for you to enjoy, wish me luck on my exams, and look forward to Summer!_

* * *

><p><em><strong> Thirteen<strong>_

_**February, 2005**_

It was one of those work days during which there was nothing to do, so everyone was pretending to do something in the hopes that Gibbs would leave them alone. Kate set herself busy organizing the filing cabinets, McGee pretended to be fortifying the firewall in the team's internet protection system, and DiNozzo surreptitiously flipped through cold files, looking up every once in a while to see if Gibbs had noticed he was also playing solitaire on his cell phone—which was hidden in a cold case file.

The fourth time he looked up furtively, Madeleine was standing right next to his desk, blinking at him.

He yelped and shot backwards in his chair, crashing into the bullpen wall—and drawing everyone's attention. At least, he thought that's what got everyone's attention. He had no idea they'd all been watching Madeleine stare at him for about five minutes.

He spluttered and grasped his heart.

"You little cretin!" he gasped. "You want to give me a heart attack?"

"DiNozzo!" snapped Kate.

"What did you just call her?" Gibbs growled menacingly from behind his computer.

Madeleine giggled brightly and hopped closer, holding a whimsically painted shoebox in her hands.

"Cretin," she repeated, crinkling her nose fondly. "I'm not a cretin, I'm a ninja!" she insisted.

"Well," DiNozzo retorted dryly. "You take after Gibbs with all that sneakin' around," he muttered, and raised an eyebrow at her.

"_You_ are just scared 'cause I caught you playing your cell phone," Madeleine sniffed—to which McGee and Kate sniggered.

Tony looked sheepish.

"Aren't you supposed to be in Abby's labby?" he asked goofily, making a face at her. He nodded at her fun looking box. "Whatcha got there?"

"Abby has to fire some guns in the lab," Madeleine explained solemnly. "So Mr. Jimmy ah-sorted me up here."

"Escorted," Kate translated blandly.

"Yes," Madeleine answered matter-of-factly. "Mr. Jimmy twitches if you poke his ribs," she informed Tony seriously.

"Emmy, I told you to stop torturin' him," Gibbs remarked lazily.

"But it's funny," Madeleine retorted, her big eyes still fixed on DiNozzo. She beamed again and held up the box. "Abby has been helping me make my Valentine's box for preschool," she said.

"Oh, cool," Tony answered automatically. He cocked his head. "But today's Valentine's Day."

Madeleine nodded happily.

"But I don't go to preschool on Mondays. I go here. So I get to hand mine out tomorrow, and I get to give you guys Valentines first!"

Tony sat up straight, looking smug.

"I get a Valentine?" he asked.

She nodded and placed the box at her feet, picking out a Valentine with Tony's name written on it in semi-legible letters.

"Abby helped with the writing and the spelling," she said proudly, handing him his card. "Also the fancy Hebrew letters say 'I Love You' but don't feel special because I put that on everybody's card," she added, prancing over to Kate and handing her a Valentine.

She visited McGee next and giggled as she slid his onto his knee.

"I gave the one with candy to my faaaaaa-vorite," she trilled.

DiNozzo bolted out of his chair and hopped over to McGee, craning his neck.

"You got the candy, Probie?" he asked jealously. "Hey! Wait, no?" Tony turned to Madeleine. "Who got the candy? Who's the favorite?" he demanded, as he'd always been under the impression he was Madeleine's number one. "Surely it's not _Kate_," he scoffed.

"Hey, I'm favorable," Kate snapped indignantly. She held up her card. "It isn't me," she added and smiled sweetly at Madeleine. "But that doesn't matter; it's beautiful, sweetie, thank you!"

Madeleine curtseyed, and DiNozzo crouched down next to her.

"Is Abby your favorite?" he pestered her.

She whirled on him and placed her hands on her hips.

"You're dumb," she informed him.

"Madeleine," Gibbs warned from behind his desk. His voice sounded muffled, but she clamped her mouth shut and glared at Tony. She inched closer until her little nose was almost touching his and she huffed, stamping her foot.

"I'm not allowed to call people dumb," she informed him quietly.

"Well, it's rude," Tony agreed loftily.

"_Daddy_ is my favorite," she said pointedly. "_Ob-veee-ous-leeeee_."

"Oh," Tony muttered, sheepish again.

He stood up, and Gibbs peered at him around his computer, smirking around some sort of ridiculous, twenty-five cent heart-shaped sucker. DiNozzo chose not to comment on how odd Gibbs looked eating it and sulked back to his desk. He took a pin and poked it through the Valentine, hanging it behind him obediently and giving Madeleine a thumbs-up.

"Are you giving a Valentine to everyone in your class, Maddie?" Kate asked.

"Yes," she answered. "We have to, so no one gets sad. But I would anyway, because I like all of them. Even Yaseef. Even if the other kids think he's weird."

"Why do they think that?" Kate asked.

"Oh, because his mommy wears a scarf on her head," Madeleine said, eyes wide. She waved her hands around her hair, indicating a wrap or a scarf. "And one time, Susan Pike said that's because Yaseef's mommy and daddy attacked America, which is stupid, because Yaseef is from Fuh-lorid-uh."

Kate laughed, if for no other reason than because Madeleine's reasoning was so simple and cute.

"Yaseef is Muslim," Gibbs grunted.

"Yes, but Nuns wear things on their heads, too," Madeleine added. "I saw them at Noemi's church—_McGee_," she changed mid-sentence, darting over to Gibbs' desk and snatching a book out of the backpack she always brought with her to NCIS. She hugged it and bounced back over to the youngest agent's desk. "Can you read me this?"

She held out a battered paperback copy of the first Harry Potter novel, and McGee's eyes lit up.

"Yeah!" he said enthusiastically. "Yeah, it's really good! And then we can watch the movie, and I've got a video game, too—" he broke off, flushing.

Gibbs glared around his computer at McGee. He managed to look intimidating even with that damn sucker in his mouth.

"Er," McGee mumbled. "Er, we can read it if your dad thinks it's okay."

"Emily reads it," Madeleine said breezily. "It's Emily's favorite, she gave it to me. Her mommy bought her a new one."

"Emily's older than you," Gibbs said.

"DAD!" screeched Madeleine.

He stared at her, caught off guard.

"Don't _shriek_ at me, Madeleine," he admonished seriously, his eyes narrowing.

"Dad!" she whispered indignantly. "Emily says it's not scary until the next one! And Mrs. Diane says it's okay for me!"

"Mrs. Diane isn't your mother," muttered Gibbs, to the fervent amusement of DiNozzo.

"So I can scratch her off my list of possibles, Boss?" he asked slyly.

"You can scratch Julia Roberts off, too, DiNozzo," Gibbs deadpanned. "Haven't seen her in ten years."

DiNozzo looked simultaneously mortified and gleeful.

"Did you—make a—are you joke—" he stammered. "And did you…hack my…computer?"

Gibbs didn't answer. He went back to working, and DiNozzo looked around, spluttering. Kate raised her eyebrows at him.

"There's actually a real list?" she asked, amused.

McGee just hoisted Madeleine into his lap and examined the beaten-up book.

"Begin now," Madeleine said sweetly. "Daddy, may Timmy read to me now?"

"No, he's working."

Madeleine laughed.

"No. He's not," she retorted.

McGee winced—she was going to get him in trouble. Before Madeleine could open her mouth again and inform Gibbs that McGee was playing Dungeons and Dragons on his computer, he poked her gently on the knee and cleared his throat.

"Uh, Boss, why don't I take Maddie to get lunch? And, uh, I'll, uh, read the book some other time, okay?" he added to Madeleine.

Gibbs looked sullen at the suggestion but glanced at Madeleine to see her reaction. She looked excited, so he nodded curtly. McGee let out a sigh of relief and leapt to his feet, easily swinging Madeleine onto his hip—a move which quietly impressed Gibbs as McGee was usually so uncoordinated, and Madeleine wasn't so light anymore at four-and-a-half.

Gibbs chucked his keys lightly across the bullpen.

"Her seat's in my federal car," he said gruffly.

"Got it," McGee said, making sure he had all that he needed.

DiNozzo looked plainly outraged that McGee got to take Madeleine to lunch. McGee shot him a smug look as he let Madeleine down onto her feet and gestured for her hand.

"Can we take Abby?" Madeleine asked.

"No," Gibbs decided.

McGee shrugged apologetically at Madeleine.

"Just you and me, kid," he said, and they started to walk out.

"Okay, that's okay," Madeleine said happily, her voice fading. "Hey, Tim, can you tell me what eight plus seven is? Because every time I answer sixteen it's _not_ sixteen."

Kate laughed again, shaking her head fondly. DiNozzo glared after them and then slowly turned to Gibbs, still with that thoughtful glare on his face.

"Gibbs," he asked loudly, arching his eyebrow bravely. "Have you really slept with Julia Roberts?"

With a gasp, Kate pelted an eraser at DiNozzo's head.

Gibbs said nothing and crunched loudly into his red, heart-shaped sucker.

* * *

><p>"Hey," Gibbs greeted Skype Jenny as she materialized. "Do we like Harry Potter?"<p>

She blinked at him and then waved her hand dramatically.

"By all means, skip the pleasantries," she said dryly, raising her eyebrow. "Do we _like_ Harry Potter?" she repeated.

"Yeah," Gibbs agreed urgently, waving his hands. He glanced over his shoulder, aware Madeleine would be done changing into her pajamas any moment now. "Do we like 'im?"

She looked slightly chagrined for a moment and winced.

"Well," she began delicately, with the air of reluctance. "I happen to have read them all in English…and…erm, French and Arabic."

Gibbs stared at her dryly.

"Why?"

"Because I'm dying waiting for the next one, okay?" Jenny said hurriedly, flushing. "Why are you asking me about Harry Potter? Thinking of taking a trip to Hogwarts yourself?"

Before he could ask what a hog wart was—other than the obvious—or express disbelief that Jenny was spending her free time reading children's books repetitively, Madeleine darted into the room in pajamas, holding the book in her hands. She launched herself into Gibbs' lap, sat directly on his knees, and thrust it up into view of the camera.

"IMA!" she shouted excitedly. "I'm happy to see you and I love you—AM I ALLOWED TO READ THIS?" she demanded at high volume.

Jenny looked taken aback and squinted, leaning closer.

"Is that the first one?" she asked.

"It's called _The Sorcerer's Stone_," Gibbs said gruffly.

"No," Jenny retorted indignantly. "It's _The Philosopher's Stone_."

"S'not what it says, Jen," he growled.

She waved her hand flippantly.

"Where did she find that?"

"Emily—" began Madeleine.

"Emily Fornell gave it to her. But Emily Fornell's about nine. McGee's a big fan of them," Gibbs looked confused. "I can't tell if they're kid appropriate or not. Tobias said they're children's books."

Jenny made a snorting, scoffing noise.

"They are, I suppose. Originally. She can read that one; it isn't too scary. We've let her see all of the old Star Wars movies, so I suppose a bit of Lord Voldemort is no different than that terrifying SOB who bosses around Darth Vader," Jenny paused. "I wouldn't go past that first one just yet, though. Madeleine," Jenny said, brightening. "Has Emily read all of them?"

"Emily has read the first four," Madeleine said, holding up her fingers. "But Mrs. Diane said she can't read any more until she's older—but, Mrs. Diane bought her brand new pretty hardcopies!"

"That's lovely," Jenny said, an uninterested look glazing her face.

"Mmhmm," Madeleine hummed, chucking aside the book. Gibbs rolled his eyes, picked it up, and smoothed its ruffled pages. "Guess what else Emily gets?"

"What?"

"I said guess, Mommy."

Gibbs pointed at Madeleine's head.

"This is a new thing we do," he said, arching a brow. "You have to guess. You get in trouble if you're wrong," he warned.

Jenny looked amused.

"Ah," she began. "Does Emily get a puppy?"

"No!"

"Hmm. Does she get…a bicycle?"

"No, Mommy, we have bikes already! Guess harder!"

Jenny sighed, sharing a look with Gibbs.

"Can I have a clue?"

"Hmm, okay. You have one," Madeleine said slyly.

Jenny furrowed her brow, thinking a little. She lifted her shoulders.

"Uh," she tried to stall, flustered. "Headache?"

Gibbs laughed. Madeleine rolled her eyes.

"No, _silly_," she sighed matter-of-factly. "Emily gets a baby! But it's not hers. It's her mom's. I think."

Jenny looked startled.

"I, uh, think so too—Jethro?" she asked.

He looked baffled the same as she, and stared down at Madeleine.

"Diane's—?" began Jenny.

"I don't know," he interrupted gruffly, tilting his head at his daughter. "Emmy, who told you Emily's mom was having a baby?"

"Emily did," Madeleine said blithely. "She wasn't supposed to say anything. It's going to be here in September."

"Oh," Jenny said, eyebrows going up. "I thought you said they were on the rocks," she said quietly, eyes on Gibbs.

He looked just as confused.

"The way Tobias talked…" he muttered, thinking hard.

"Ima," Madeleine piped up, "you do not have to worry. The new baby will belong to Mrs. Diane and Mr. Toby, not Daddy."

Jenny made a noise that sounded like a laugh and a strangled gasp in one, and she gave Madeleine a slack-jawed, wide-eyed look. Gibbs suddenly felt the need to crawl into a hole in the earth and never emerge—because what the hell was she talking about, acting like there was any chance he'd be the father of Diane's new baby?!

Still caught between laughing and breathing, Jenny flung her hand at Gibbs.

"Explain!"

"Madeleine," he said sternly, looking at her harshly. "Why would you think Diane's baby would belong to me?"

She rolled her eyes and threw her hands up.

"Because," she began seriously. "Susan Pike at school told me only married people have babies and you told me you were married to Mrs. Diane once." Madeleine was interrupted by Jenny laughing rather meanly at Gibbs' expense; the little girl grinned and plunged on, "but Mr. Toby is married to her now so I was worried _I_ was going to get another baby, but Emily also said that's wrong because you have to sleep in the same bed and watch the nighttime news first."

By this point, Jenny was laughing so ridiculously loudly that Gibbs could barely think to be appalled and embarrassed at his daughter's massive breach of logic. He resorted to staring at her awkwardly, wishing she didn't have such an excellent command of language, and trying to figure out what he was going to say next.

"Watch the news first!" Jenny cackled, throwing her head back. She clasped her hands and pursed her lips, blowing a kiss to Madeleine. "You are the sweetest thing, baby," she complimented. "I love you to pieces, to the moon and back!"

Madeleine giggled, pleased.

"Why isn't Daddy laughing?" she asked, swiveling on his lap to look at him.

"Oh, honey," soothed Jenny, a bright smile still on her face. "Daddy doesn't like to be reminded he was married to Mrs. Diane."

Madeleine patted her father's knee sweetly.

"Don't worry," she said calmly. "She is staying married to Mr. Toby. Emily thought they were going to break up, but they stopped fighting and got the baby instead."

Gibbs was glad Jenny was captivating Madeleine's attention so well, because he was still trying to compose himself. He wrinkled his nose, vaguely listening to them talk.

"That's nice," Jenny was saying. "Emily must be glad there's no more fighting."

"Well, I told Emily if they broke up it would be fine, because you and Daddy are not in a married so it's better to not be."

"It's called a _marriage_ when two people are together," Jenny corrected slowly, her smile fading, "and honey, don't…no, it's very complicated, it's not—"

"It's different," Gibbs said abruptly, sitting straighter and coming out of his haze. He shook his head. "Marriages end because people fight too much. And," he pointed between himself and Jenny, "we aren't broken up," he insisted, "we're together. We are a _we_, not separate."

Madeleine blinked at him.

"It's not different," she said, confused. "It's not different. Mrs. Diane and Mr. Toby would be not married but still have Emily, so it's the same."

"No," Gibbs said. "It wouldn't be. They'd stop being married because they'd stop being friends," again he fervently pointed between himself and Jenny. "We were never married. But we aren't broken up."

Madeleine frowned.

"What is different?"

Gibbs looked frustrated.

"It's different because me'n'your mom love each other," he said forcefully.

He didn't intend to imply that Diane and Tobias didn't—though he really didn't know what was going on there—he was just trying to make Madeleine understand that divorce was not the same as the kind of not-married he and Jenny were.

"There's _divorced_ and there's not-married," Jenny said gently, her eyes flicking back and forth from Madeleine to Gibbs. "The two are different," she explained, and upon seeing Madeleine's face fade into semi-understanding and peace, she looked back up at Gibbs.

He reached up and rubbed his jaw, looking categorically uncomfortable. He cleared his throat, and she recognized the way he clenched his jaw as his sort of telltale, natural reaction to intimacy—but still, she smiled. It didn't really count, but she wasn't going to berate him for that.

She cleared her throat and leaned back in her chair.

"I think I have time for a few pages of Harry Potter," she said conversationally. "Before bed? That can be our book. But you have to promise you'll go straight to sleep for Daddy…"

Gibbs gave her a grateful look and picked up the book to read out loud for the girls.

* * *

><p>"Aba," Madeleine said boldly when he arrived to pick her up from daycare, "I can tie my shoes."<p>

She pointed smugly to the loosely knotted ties on her tennis shoes and waited expectantly for his exclamation of praise. Of course, he obliged, even though he knew he'd have to retie them later if just for safety's sake.

"You did that?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. He crouched down to inspect. "Impressive, Emmy," he complimented, ruffling her hair and kissing her cheek. "You ready to go?" he asked, pulling her backpack up on her shoulder and coaxing her to put her other arm through.

She nodded, wriggling into it and then wrapping her arms around herself. She wriggled her gloved fingers.

"Is the car warm?" she asked, inching closer to him.

He stood up and made her take his hand to walk outside and then across the street to the parking garage.

"Toasty warm," he said solemnly.

"Good," she answered, relieved. She waved goodbye to her teacher and to Maddie, and Gibbs nodded to them as they left. "It's cold too much here. In Israel it was warm, warm, warm, even in this _winter_ thing."

Gibbs laughed.

"Well, it will start getting warm soon. Mr. Groundhog couldn't see his shadow, so spring is coming early, remember?"

"It's okay if you think that, Daddy, but he is a fat animal, not a weather man, okay?"

Gibbs grinned and shook his head, leading her watchfully through the parking garage.

"Okay," he agreed obediently.

They were right at the car when she tripped, and if he hadn't had such a good hold of her hand, she wouldn't have scraped up her knees and face badly on the concrete. Fortunately, he caught her, swung her back onto her feet, and all she did was gasp in surprise. She looked down at her shoes with furrowed brows and frowned, and then looked back up at him.

"Can you please tie these?" she asked sheepishly. "I am not very good."

He crouched down again and smiled, tying them nice and tight, and winked at her.

"Practice makes perfect, okay?" he said. He unlocked the car and stood up to open his door. "When you get home tonight, I'll show you how to remember it, and then you can show off for Tony on Monday. Sound good?"

She nodded eagerly, buckling herself into her car seat.

"Yes! Yes!" she said excitedly. "Can Pony tie his shoes?"

Gibbs shrugged.

"Probably not," he answered, deadpan. She giggled at him and pointed authoritatively to the front seat.

"Drive, silly," she ordered. "Are you going to watch me today?" she asked, when he had started the car.

"Not today," he said apologetically. "I'm going to go back to work while you're at lessons. I'd like to stay, but I have to make sure I work so I can be home on weekends."

"It's okay," Madeleine said, unconcerned. "You don't have to watch all the time. But Mommy never watched," she added flippantly.

Gibbs glanced at her in the mirror, frowning a little. Ice skating lessons—they were talking about her resuming ice skating lessons. He'd worked hard on finding some options for that when they'd gotten back from Stillwater, and he'd finally found something in Alexandria. Madeleine had been thrilled to start again, and she'd been at them for about three weeks now. She didn't know that half of his staying to watch for the first four lessons was his fear that she was going to fall and hurt herself. After seeing her fall (and get up) about twenty times, he'd relaxed and realized it didn't really bother her.

"Your mom had to work," he reminded her.

"I know," Madeleine answered blithely.

He still frowned. He didn't think she understood that she'd essentially put down Jenny's parenting skills with her offhand comment, but he knew Jenny would be bothered to hear it. There was no question that he and Jenny were different when it came to the hands-on aspect of caring for Madeleine; she'd found it easy to hand Emmy over to a nanny and go about her job diligently, while Gibbs was reluctant to entrust the majority of Madeleine's care to a glorified babysitter. He liked her in daycare, because she made friends and she learned—like Kelly had in base childcare—and he didn't mind Noemi, because Noemi was a connection to Jenny and she was wonderful with Madeleine. When it came down to it, though, Gibbs disliked any situation that took him away from Madeleine at bedtime or on the weekends.

He realized he had more flexibility to his schedule because of his team's competence, but he sometimes vaguely resented Jenny for being more of an abstract mother figure in Madeleine's life than she should be. Even when he had been the one visiting once in a blue moon, he'd still felt like he made Madeleine a priority. But, Madeleine was younger then, and he did have the advantage of having her during some of the most crucial years of her life.

"Aba, I need more ice socks," Madeleine announced.

"What happened to your green ones?" Gibbs asked.

He had just bought her a new pair of leg warmers to keep her legs warm while she was skating, and now she was asking for another pair.

"Oz _ate_ them," Madeleine said derisively. "He ate them all up."

Gibbs paused.

"Were they on the floor?"

"_No_. Oz opened my sock drawer," she lied through her teeth.

Oz was getting big, but Gibbs highly doubted the St. Bernard pup had the foresight to paw open Madeleine's top bureau drawer and seek out her new pair of leg warmers.

"Madeleine," Gibbs admonished shortly.

"Fine," she answered. "Floor."

He nodded.

"I'll get you a new pair," he said, "but we're getting grey until you start listening to me when I say not to leave things on the floor."

He could feel her little glare on him in the mirror, and tried to suppress a smile—but he really had been telling her, since Oz started teething, that they had to keep things off the floor or the dog would eat them. So far, Oz had disposed of two pairs of Mary Janes, one pair of mittens, a scarf, one of his belts, his NCIS ID—and the damn dog had gnawed on part of the boat.

Gibbs looked at her in the rearview mirror and noted that she had stopped glaring and was now looking intently at her fingernails. She seemed to sense his gaze and looked up, flinging up her hands and wriggling the fingers at him in a flashy way.

"Daddy, will you paint my nails?"

* * *

><p>Jenny scratched her nose with her fingernail thoughtfully, nodding as she listened to Agent Callen's report from Serbia.<p>

"Who is this Intel from?" she clarified.

"Several people. I've got contacts with some Bosnian prisoners, and a few informants who work amongst the Chechens. Their loyalties are questionable, though. I don't know if they're in support of the West or Russia or-well, Chechnya. Whoever feeds 'em, probably," Callen said.

"Then I'll find a way to feed them," Jenny promised dryly. "I need their information on the Uzbek cell, or this isn't going to go at all how I'd planned—look, I've got some connections with Mossad working with this, too, though I don't know who Eli David is going to give me yet. They've got some internal issues to work out currently. Are Hetty and Hanna coming through from L.A.?"

"Occasionally," Callen answered with a shrug. "That office is swamped, and they've got a couple new people to train. Did you meet Agent Blye at FLET-C?"

Jenny shook her head.

"She's younger than I am," she answered.

"Well, she was supposed to be sent to you," Callen answered. "But we—the L.A. special ops office—needed a sniper, so that's where she is. Hetty's had her monitoring chatter on some of this intrigue as well."

"So placing a call to L.A. might be my next best bet?"

Callen nodded.

"Could be," he said, and flashed a toothy grin. "But you can't deny I've given you some good stuff!"

She laughed and nodded.

"Yeah, no denying that," she agreed. "I just might have to murder you if it turns out I have to go to Azerbaijan instead of Uzbekistan. Try not to monkey wrench my plans so much next time we chat," she said wryly.

Callen snorted smugly.

"I wouldn't do it if I didn't know you could handle it just fine, Shepard," he retorted, arching his eyebrow. "Hey, what's this I hear on the grapevine 'bout you and Gibbs?"

Taken aback, she raised an eyebrow.

"What?" she asked.

"You know what," Callen answered, crossing his arms. "I worked with 'im in Moscow, you know that."

"The way I heard it, he saved your ass," she shot back primly. She shook her head and gave Callen a guarded look. "Moscow, early 2000? I don't know what rumors you heard, G, 'cause he wouldn't have known anything then."

Callen tilted his head to the side.

"I'm goin' on somethin' Morrow said to Vance, and Vance said to Hetty. That, and me knowin' that you were only in Europe with Gibbs—and Ducky," he teased. "So unless you 'n' Duck—"

Jenny held up her hand, crinkling her nose.

"I'll dispel that thought right now," she said. She looked concerned though. "What did you hear? Is something wrong?"

"No, nothin's wrong," he placated. "I heard the relay about the hostage incident up in D.C. They mentioned Gibbs' daughter being involved, and Morrow slipped up, I guess, said the worst part about it was making contact with you," Callen grinned. "I can do simple math, Jenny."

"That was a very frightening ordeal for Agent Gibbs," Jenny said mildly.

"What's her name?" Callen asked, smirking.

Jenny looked around the Cairo office's threat assessment center. Everyone here knew she had a child, and some of them were familiar with Madeleine's name or the picture on her desk. But still, sometimes, she felt uncomfortable discussing it—particularly now, as she was getting deeper and deeper into the blackness of the unfolding operation she was organizing.

"Is this connection secure?" she asked a tech.

"Yes, Ma'am," he answered confidently.

Jenny turned back to Callen.

"She's Madeleine," she answered. "She's four and a half."

"And you're letting Gibbs raise her?" Callen asked.

Jenny lifted her eyes to the ceiling.

"You think she's bad off with him?" she asked wryly.

"Nah, Gibbs is fine," Callen retorted, "Y'know, if you want a carpenter swillin' bourbon for a kid."

Jenny laughed good-naturedly.

"Keep me updated on your contacts, G," she said, and ran her hand across her neck in a slashing motion to cut the call.

"You want me to put you through to Vance next, Ma'am?" the tech asked her.

"No," she decided, and stood up. "See if he's available in two hours. I'll be in my office. I need to call my daughter."

* * *

><p>Gibbs groaned internally when he found himself being insistently woken up at a very unwelcome hour. He'd only just gotten to bed sometime after midnight, and it definitely wasn't time to be up and back at NCIS yet—so why Madeleine was already in his room pulling his covers off of him, he didn't know. He kept his eyes closed and his face down in his pillow for a moment.<p>

"Daddy, please wake up!" she begged.

Of course, he couldn't ignore a plea like that, and he pushed himself up one his arms, looking at her groggily. He glanced at the clock, and then sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead, bending all the way back down to his pillow so his hand could reach his face.

"What is it, Madeleine?" he asked tensely.

It was three in the morning. He couldn't hear any thunder, but Madeleine wasn't usually afraid of storms anyway—thankfully, her mother's tendency to freak out about weather hadn't been passed down.

Madeleine rubbed her eyes unhappily.

"I want to sleep in here," she whined.

He blinked and furrowed his brow.

"Nightmare?" he asked.

"No," she said again, still whining. "I can't sleep."

He sighed.

"Madeleine, go back to bed," he said sternly.

Her face fell; her lips trembled.

"I don't _feel_ good," she retorted pitifully, and before he could say anything else, she leaned forward and threw up on the floor.

He bolted upright in bed, startled.

"Madeleine!" he exclaimed.

She stumbled backwards and started to cry.

He was out of bed in a split second. He picked her up without a thought as to if she might get sick on him and carried her into the bathroom. He flipped the light on and sat her gently on the counter while he got a plastic cup out of the medicine cabinet and blinked to adjust to the light. He turned on the water and filled the cup with one hand, reaching over to pat her knee with the other.

"Here, Emmy," he murmured, handing her the water. "Swish it around and spit."

She followed his instructions, but didn't really stop crying, so she ended up choking instead. He took the cup away from her and picked her up again, moving quickly from his bathroom to hers. He snatched up her toothbrush and then sat down on the top of the toilet, tilting her chin up.

"It's okay, Emmy, calm down," he murmured.

She hiccupped, obviously trying to stop crying.

"Ew," she whined. "Ew, Daddy, it's gross!" she cried.

"I know," he sympathized. "You can brush your teeth to get the icky taste out, but I don't want you to choke again, okay? Can you stop crying?"

She nodded her head, composing herself as best she could. She kept whimpering, though, and he fixed her toothbrush.

"You still feel sick?" he asked gently, while she brushed her teeth half-heartedly. She nodded and closed her eyes, tears falling down her face. He pulled her hair off her face, feeling for a fever, but her skin wasn't hot. He thought she felt a little clammy, but he couldn't be entirely sure.

She pulled her toothbrush out of her mouth and threw it in the sink.

"My stomach hurts," she said through a mouthful of toothpaste foam.

He stood up and sat her on the sink.

"Spit," he ordered, picking up her sparkly pink toothbrush cup from the counter. She obeyed him, and he decided to try making her drink water again. "Can you drink without choking?" he asked gently.

She opened her mouth uncertainly, sticking her tongue out.

"My mouth is gross," she whined again. Her face crumpled. "It's all watery."

Gibbs winced unhappily. He sighed to himself and pulled her hair back.

"You're gonna throw up again," he warned her and pointed down. "Sink."

He was right, and he made sure he had a good grip on her and leaned against the wall, his forehead pressing into the cold plaster. He still felt sore and tired from the day he'd had at work, and he had maybe three hours before their day was supposed to start again. Clearly, Madeleine wouldn't be welcome at preschool if she was ill, but he couldn't take a sick day if he wanted to take a few for the Easter holidays in April—which he was planning on doing. He was going to have to let Noemi take her, and he was reluctant to hand off a sick child to her. It wasn't necessarily because he wanted to be taking care of Madeleine, but he knew that sick kids were huge handfuls, and he felt guilty pawning her off.

Madeleine burst into fresh tears, holding her mouth open gingerly.

"I don't like this!" she shouted unhappily.

"I don't like it either," he muttered, quietly enough so she wouldn't hear.

She had been fine when he put her to bed. Maddie Tyler had been babysitting while he went back to work and finished up a seriously gruesome case. She said Madeleine had stayed asleep the entire time he was gone. He figured it was best that she hadn't gotten sick until he could be there, but that didn't make dealing with it any more fun.

Madeleine sat on the counter crying while he tried to figure out what to do. He rubbed his forehead, turning the sink on and making sure hot water sort of rinsed everything down. He kept a comforting hand on Madeleine's head—and finally cleared his throat.

"Okay," he muttered to himself. "Okay, Madeleine?" he said, turning to her. "Honey, do you still feel sick? Or did throwing up make it better?"

"Sick," she answered, puckering her lips at him sadly.

"Right," he agreed under his breath. "C'mere," he coaxed and picked her up again.

She snuggled up to him, sniffling into his bare shoulder. He turned off the sink and carried her into the living room, flipping lights on. His movements woke up the dog, and Oz came trotting out of the laundry room where his bed was. The dog seemed to choose a different place to sleep every night, and he'd been in the laundry room when Gibbs quietly snuck in and sent Maddie home. Two nights ago, he'd slept in the bed with Gibbs like he was a damn human, and on rare occasions he slept with Madeleine—but Madeleine usually went to bed too early for Oz, since he had to be let out a few more times before locking up for the night.

"Hey, bud," greeted Gibbs, scratching the dog's fluffy ears absently and shuffling over to the couch. He sat down with Madeleine and frowned when Oz immediately hopped up and licked Madeleine square in the mouth. For once, she whined unhappily, unreceptive to the dog's attempts at affection. "Get down, Oz," Gibbs ordered, giving him a little shove.

Oz looked baleful, but he obeyed and sat looking curiously at them from the floor. His tail thumped a few times.

"Maddie," Gibbs said gently, pulling her hair back from her face. "I'm gonna get you some ice water, okay?"

She nodded. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and went to fix her a cup with a lid and a straw. He didn't keep carbonated drinks in the house, so he didn't have Sprite or ginger ale to give her—and he didn't think she liked soda anyway. He heard her giggle feebly, and smiled—Oz must be cheering her up a little. Sure enough, when he walked back in with her water, the dog was nuzzling her feet and tickling her.

Gibbs crouched down in front of her and handed her the cup.

"I'm going to bring you a blanket and your pillow pet out here, honey," he said, "and I'm going to turn a movie on for you while I clean up my room, okay?"

"But it's sleep time," she said uncertainly.

"I know," he agreed. "But you're sick, and I don't want you to be alone in your room. Now," he said seriously, "if you feel sick again, you just _run_ to the bathroom, okay? It's okay if you spill something on the way there."

"What if I don't make it?" she whispered tensely.

He smiled, placating her with a hand on her leg.

"I'll get you a bucket, just in case," he said. "What movie do you want to watch?"

She bit down on the straw, looking a bit aghast that she was allowed to stay up and pick a movie this late. She glanced at Oz and brightened somewhat.

"Oz!" she said.

He should have known. He nodded and was quick to get the movie started. Madeleine curled up with Ziva the Pillow Pet, a blanket, and the dog before he grudgingly went to clean up the vomit on his bedroom floor. It wasn't exactly a task he looked forward to, and he was tense while he was doing it because he was busy listening for the sound of scrambling feet.

He was in the kitchen washing up, pleased with how well he'd managed to clean the carpet, and relieved that Madeleine seemed to be recovering okay on the couch, when she walked in looking incredibly pale again and shuffled up to him, grasping the edge of his boxer shorts in her hand.

"Daddy," she said weakly. "You didn't give me a bucket," she reminded him, and—to his chagrin—promptly vomited on his feet.

* * *

><p>Gibbs didn't exactly make a secret of his exhaustion and irritation the next day at work, and so it came to be that the team was slowly but surely taking refuge in Abby's lab. When DiNozzo finally slunk in sometime after three, Abby stamped her foot and glared at all of them.<p>

"Seriously?" she demanded. "This is my lab, not an agent's lounge!"

"I'll stay out of your way, Abby," Tony said guiltily. "Just please don't make me go back to the bullpen."

"What did he do to _you_?" Abby asked, having already had to talk McGee off a ledge and comfort Kate for things the big bad wolf had put them through.

"He was asleep when I came back from lunch," whined DiNozzo. "And when I woke him up and offered to get coffee, he went ballistic."

"And where is he now?"

"He went to get coffee," DiNozzo answered sullenly. "Look, Abs, can't you make a result come faster and cheer him up?"

"You cannot rush science," Abby said primly, whirling to her machines. "You all should cut El Jefe a break, he has a sick preschooler! She kept him up all night!" she defended.

The three wronged agents exchanged looks.

"Maddie is sick?" Kate asked, concerned.

Abby nodded solemnly.

"Stomach virus or something," she sighed forlornly. "Gibbs told Ducky she was throwing up all night. She didn't get any sleep, and she cried so much that it was making her sick too, and that Noemi lady couldn't watch her, so Gibbs was forced to ask his ex-wife to do it, and on top of all that," Abby paused dramatically, "Madeleine threw up on his _feet_."

McGee and DiNozzo exchanged horrified looks.

"Oh his bare feet?" Kate asked, making a face.

Abby nodded, crinkling her nose distastefully.

"Poor little Emmy," she cooed soberly.

"Poor little Emmy is a champ," McGee muttered. "Throwing up on _Gibbs'_ bare feet?"

"Yeah, but did you hear the part where he called an ex-wife to watch his kid from another woman?" DiNozzo leered. He bounded towards Abby eagerly. "Which one was it?"

Abby tilted her head loftily.

"Diane," she answered finally.

"Oooh," DiNozzo whistled. "Maybe I better go get Gibbs an Irish coffee."

"Which one was Diane?" Kate asked.

"Second. Golf club. Very scary. I went trick-or-treating with her. Very passive-aggressive," Tony explained with a shiver.

"He should get a nanny or something," Kate suggested, concerned.

"No," Abby said firmly. "Gibbs doesn't want a nanny. He has Noemi for some days and preschool for others and he doesn't want someone else raising Maddie. He told me."

"Oh," Kate said sheepishly. "Well, my parents hired a nanny. We were fine," she said.

"Your parents had like _eight_ kids," DiNozzo retorted, snorting.

"Six," Kate corrected with a glare.

Abby held up her hand.

"Regardless," she said. "Cut Gibbs some slack, like I said. He's doing this all by himself, okay?"

The three agents managed to look properly chastised. DiNozzo tilted his head suddenly, brow furrowed.

"Hey, who's Noemi, anyway? Where does she come from?"

Abby opened her mouth to answer and then snapped it shut. She wasn't allowed to tell them that Noemi was Jenny's long-time housekeeper. She shrugged her shoulders, and in order to prevent more questions—and to steer DiNozzo away from bugging Gibbs about it—she said:

"Maybe Noemi was from—you know, the last time."

McGee winced.

"Ah," DiNozzo said, uncomfortably.

None of them wanted to mention anything to Gibbs that would bring up Kelly.

* * *

><p>Gibbs had placed a quick call to Jenny from his desk phone, and to his surprise, he had gotten her.<p>

"How sick is she?" Jenny was asking.

"Stomach bug," Gibbs grunted. "She was up all night. It was pitiful."

Jenny clicked her tongue sympathetically.

"At least she didn't need surgery," she soothed dryly—the one time Madeleine had been really sick on her watch, it had resulted in Gibbs getting suspended without pay and an entire organ being removed from a two-year-old's abdomen.

Gibbs laughed mirthlessly.

"Yeah," he agreed. "That's good."

"Do you think she'll be over it soon?"

"I don't know," Gibbs muttered. "It came out of nowhere. I'm gonna pick up some stuff to rehydrate her and some crackers on the way home," he paused, glancing around the bullpen. The others had just left, and he was mulling around gathering his things to go. "She threw up on my _feet_, Jen."

Jenny laughed loudly, and he glared at the phone.

"It wasn't funny," he growled.

"Poor Jethro," Jenny soothed. She muffled a giggle. "Well, that time she had the flu I laid down with her to talk her to sleep, and she threw up in my hair," Jenny comforted solemnly. "It was very _not_-pretty. If that makes you feel any better."

Gibbs paused stubbornly for a moment.

"It does," he said, with an air of enjoyment—picturing a horrified Jenny trying to clean up her long red hair.

"Does Noemi have her, then? She's got a mellow chicken soup recipe that really will cure anything," Jenny sighed nostalgically. "You can trust Noemi to fix up anything."

"Er," Gibbs said, wincing to himself.

"What?" Jenny asked.

"Noemi had something to attend for her son," Gibbs answered vaguely.

"Is Madeleine with _you_?" Jenny asked, surprised.

"Er," Gibbs fumbled again. "No."

Jenny didn't say anything for a moment.

"Did you sell her to gypsies, Jethro? Where the hell is she?"

"I gave her to Tobias," Gibbs answered, attempting to sound nonchalant.

Jenny made an annoyed, huffing sound.

"Fornell's at work, too, so I don't know what you—" she stopped talking.

Gibbs flinched, preparing for the penny to drop.

"Leroy _Jethro_ Gibbs."

"Jen—"

"The trick-or-treating was one thing," growled Jenny, "but do not tell me you gave _my_ baby to _your_ ex-wife when she was _sick_!"

Gibbs groaned.

"I didn't have a choice, Jenny," he insisted.

"You could have taken a sick day!" she fired back aggressively.

"My vacation time is stretched thin," snapped Gibbs. "Diane hasn't worked since Emily was born, and she knows how to take care of a kid. I wasn't happy about it either."

Jenny made an outraged, seething noise, and went silent again; Gibbs sensed she really was upset. He was sorry for pissing her off, but she hadn't been that miffed when she found out they went trick-or-treating with Diane, so he hadn't expected too much of a fall out. Then again, DiNozzo, Emily, and Fornell had been present then.

"And what about Emily Fornell? Diane didn't think having Madeleine there might get her daughter sick? And Diane's pregnant, Jethro, she doesn't need to expose herself to a sick child!"

"It's not a contagious thing, it's something Madeleine ate at preschool. Yogurt or something," Gibbs explained. "I called them when they opened this morning. Other kids are sick, and someone's been fired."

Jenny scoffed. Still annoyed with his decision, she muttered to herself for a moment.

"It doesn't matter, Jen," Gibbs warned. "It doesn't mean anything."

"Jethro, your ex-_wife_ has now spent a major holiday with my daughter _and_ cared for her when she's sick—how do you think that makes me feel? She's seeing more of Madeleine than I am!"

"Who the hell's fault is that?" barked Gibbs.

"Are you accusing me of something?" Jenny lashed out, her voice choked and tense suddenly. "I would be there if I could! Don't do that to me, Jethro, stop—you have got to stop saying those sorts of things to me! You don't always _have_ to be a son of a bitch, you can just tell me you wish I was there to help you!"

He started to shout back at her, but deflated, and leaned forward onto his desk, too tired to fight with her and feeling a little sheepish. He could understand how Diane's involvement might make her feel threatened—even if he disliked being near Diane, and Diane had made it clear she wasn't his number one fan even now.

Gibbs sighed heavily.

"It's hard to do this alone, Jen."

"I know," she retorted emphatically. "_You're good at it,_ Jethro."

"I wish you were here to help me," he said sincerely.

* * *

><p>Diane was clearly not in a good mood when he arrived to pick Madeleine up, and for a split second he thought she was going to force him to stand on the porch while she got his daughter ready to go. After a long, tense moment, she gestured him in silently. Her hair was pulled back messily, but tendrils were falling around her face and she kept swatting at them irritably. She looked a hot mess, but he wasn't about to point that out to her.<p>

"I half-expected you to be late," she snapped tightly. "Thank you for being on time."

Even the polite comment seemed insincere, and he decided not to say anything. She turned and looked pointedly at his shoes, a sour look on her face, and then grabbed his arm and forced him into the kitchen off the carpet—he'd forgotten Diane was manic about having no shoes on in the house.

"Has Madeleine given you trouble?" he asked, unable to keep the note of incredulity out of his tone. Most of the time—_most_—Madeleine was on her best behavior at other people's houses.

"No," Diane said curtly. "It isn't yours; it's mine. Emily is a nightmare," she seethed, glancing around half-heartedly to make sure the little girl was nowhere near.

"Ah," Gibbs said awkwardly.

"She has been pestering Madeleine since she got home from school and just generally causing problems. Emily has _never_ been perfect but her behavior lately, so help me _God_," she trailed off and shook her head in frustration. "Tobias was supposed to be home two hours ago."

Gibbs nodded slowly, feeling eerily as if he were standing on very thin ice. Diane swept her hair back again. Gibbs cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Is Emily upset about," he paused, frowning, and then gestured at Diane's abdomen, "that," he finished lamely.

She looked at him sharply.

"How do you know about," she glared at him, breaking off. "This isn't the olden days, Leroy, you're allowed to reference my pregnancy," she snapped. "Emily told Madeleine?" she asked curtly.

Gibbs nodded.

Diane scoffed.

"I hadn't thought she'd be upset. She seemed excited."

"Maybe she's jealous," Gibbs tried.

"Well, she has another thing coming," snapped Diane. "She's got to grow up."

"She's just a kid, Diane. I reckon you and Tobias fighting scares her, too," Gibbs said boldly.

Diane gave him a poisonous look.

"Do not lecture me on how to make a marriage work, Leroy," she spat. "I'm not entirely sure Madeleine enjoys having no mother around," she added acidly.

Gibbs held up his hands and narrowed his eyes darkly, gritting his teeth to keep from saying anything.

"Where's Emmy?" he asked.

Diane looked peeved by the sheer use of the nickname, but she sighed and leaned against the counter.

"She's asleep in my bedroom," she said grudgingly. "She started feeling better a little bit after Emily came home. She had some saltines and a cup of ginger ale, and she's kept that down. She did spike a fever around noon, but I sweat it out of her by the fireplace. I tried to keep her awake so you could get her to bed early, but it was impossible, and at least when she fell asleep, Emily stopped trying to force her to play dress up."

Gibbs nodded; he turned on his heel, and then turned back, hesitating.

"Uh," he started. "You want me to-?"

"I'll get her," Diane said tensely.

He was glad of that, because he didn't want to go poking around in their bedroom. He stood awkwardly in the kitchen while Diane went to fetch Madeleine, and after a moment, the front door clicked open and a blurry figure dashed by the doorway, squealing happily.

"DAD!" shouted Emily, and Gibbs heard her collide heavily with Fornell.

"Hey, Mo," Fornell answered, slamming the door. "Where's your mom?" he asked sheepishly.

"Ugh," groaned Emily, her voice muffled. "I don't _know_. She screamed at me _again_."

"Hm," Fornell grumbled. "I bet you deserved it," he joked.

"No!" insisted Emily, and then she skipped back down the hall, her blonde ponytail swinging. "Oh, yeah, Dad, Agent Gibbs is in the kitchen!" she called, her voice falling as she disappeared.

Fornell strolled into the kitchen moments later, his shoes off and his coat over his arm.

"This is the stuff of my nightmares," he deadpanned. "Come to take her back, have you?"

Gibbs snorted, well aware Fornell was joking about Diane—not Madeleine. He was saved having to come up with a smart answer, though, because Diane came back in with Madeleine, and Gibbs hurried to take her. Madeleine was too big to be carried very often these days, and Diane certainly didn't need to be lugging her around.

"Poor tyke," Fornell said fondly, peering at her.

Madeleine blinked around at them all tiredly and dropped her head on Gibbs' shoulder, green eyes blinking rapidly.

"Hi, Daddy," she said sleepily, then closed her eyes and mumbled in Hebrew until sleep claimed her again.

"Oh," Diane said, reaching into her jeans pocket. "I took this off of her while she was sleeping. Didn't want her to strangle," she explained, dropping the Star of David necklace into Gibbs' palm with a slightly curious look.

Gibbs just grunted in thanks and didn't tell her that he'd never thought of that, and Madeleine always slept in Tali's necklace.

He cleared his throat.

"Thanks for taking her," he said gruffly.

Diane had been looking aggressively at Tobias but turned and tried to muster a more pleasant look. She nodded.

"She's no trouble," she said—but she sounded exhausted.

Gibbs frowned slightly and started to push past them for the door. He stopped in the kitchen doorway and hiked Madeleine up on his hip, turning towards Diane purposefully.

"You want me to take Emily this weekend?" he offered. "I can pick 'er up Friday and bring 'er back Sunday night. If you need a break."

He was speaking more to Diane than Fornell, but he sensed Tobias was immediately up for the idea, whereas Diane took a moment of tense fighting with herself before her face finally relaxed and she put a hand to her forehead.

"_Yes_," she said emphatically. "Please. I could stay in bed all day," she mumbled under her breath.

Tobias mouthed a thank-you at Gibbs, and he nodded. He paused, and then decided to throw caution to the winds.

"Congratulations," he said gruffly.

Madeleine, drifting in and out of sleep, lifted her hand and waved.

"'Bye Mr. Toby, 'bye Mrs. Diane. 'Bye baby."

Diane smiled and waved back, and Gibbs left swiftly, unwilling to overstay his welcome. Madeleine sighed heavily and shifted, burying her nose into his neck. She shivered and yawned and mumbled a bit grumpily.

"Emily put plastic high heels on my feet. I hate high heels."

And at that, Gibbs laughed loudly at the expense of Jenny.

* * *

><p>It snowed again that weekend, and Gibbs was hoping it was the last snow of the season. He didn't mind the white blanket, but Madeleine, after her brief time of sledding in Stillwater, had decided it was too cold and she hated it. When it snowed, she refused to leave the house, so it turned out he was going to be trapped with her and Emily all weekend unless the snow decided to miraculously melt.<p>

He did some quick thinking and enlisted Abby and Kate's help to entertain the girls, which turned out to benefit him immensely. Even though he'd taken Emily to give Diane and Fornell a break, he ended up getting a solid evening to himself Saturday night. He spent it working on the boat and listening to shrieks and giggles coming from upstairs. Abby and Kate had brought nail polish and make-up, fulfilling Madeleine's wish that her nails be painted without Gibbs having to be the one to do it, and Emily had proudly brought every Princess movie in her collection.

_The Little Mermaid_ and _Snow White_ had been watched this afternoon, and when Gibbs had ventured upstairs to check on everything earlier, he'd heard a good-natured argument about whether _Sleeping Beauty_ or _Star Wars_ was next—Madeleine was _insisting Star Wars_ was a princess movie, but Emily would not acquiesce.

He had told Kate and Abby they could do makeovers as long as he didn't walk upstairs and see Madeleine or Emily looking like dolled up beauty queens waiting to be preyed on and murdered.

Friday he had picked Emily up from school and brought them both back to NCIS while he finished up. Abby had done a science experiment with them in the lab, and later that night, Gibbs had taken them to get hot chocolate. Then it was board games and teaching Emily how to sand the boat and a very late bedtime. Saturday had been much of the same, until Abby and Kate had showed up, and tomorrow he had to have Emily home for church. Tomorrow night, Jenny was supposed to call.

So it seemed the last weekend in February was shaping up to be a damn good one, and it was the first time in a long time that time hadn't been filled with crushing loneliness and heartache that penetrated to the very bone.

He put down his sander and wandered over to that drawer in the corner where he kept the memorabilia. He flicked an overhead light on and opened it, shuffling through the things inside, his fingers brushing through the items until he settled on something to pick up. He admired Shannon's engagement ring, though it was tarnished and bent from the accident, and the thick, blue headband Kelly had been wearing when she died. His mother-in-law had told him it was morbid to keep the headband, but it wasn't like the rest of the things Kelly had on that day. There wasn't a speck of blood on the headband; it was one of the only things in the evidence locker he'd been able to look at.

He smiled at the old colouring book pages, the old holiday cards, and an old report card of Kelly's where she got straight B's except for an A in math.

Last but not least, he pulled out his photos of them, the few he kept with him. Many of them were stored away in the attic or had been kept out of grief by Shannon's parents—and he'd never begrudged them that.

He heard footsteps on the basement stairs, but he was so intent on looking at the photos that he didn't realize that meant someone was approaching him until Abby was standing, hesitantly, right next to him.

"Hi, Gibbs," she greeted quietly.

"Hi, Abs," he said back—and then, he handed her the photo.

She took it and tilted her head.

"Oh," she said softly. "Is this-?"

"Shannon," he said, pointing to the photo, similar to how he'd introduced them to Jenny before Madeleine was born, "and Kelly."

"Oh," Abby said again.

She smiled.

"They're so pretty, Gibbs," she said earnestly.

Abby craned her neck and looked at all the things in the drawer. She reached out to touch, but he pushed her hand back gently, shaking his head. That was his stuff, and he didn't want to share it all yet. There were too many personal moments contained in Kelly's Father's Day notes and birthday cards.

"It's fourteen years this weekend," he said gruffly.

Abby slipped the photo back onto the counter and put her hand over his, squeezing.

"You really miss them, don't you?" she asked.

He nodded.

Abby leaned forward to look at him more closely.

"Do Jenny and Madeleine make it any better?" she inquired tentatively. "I know they can't replace Shannon and Kelly, but I just mean—you were never happy before, Gibbs. You look happy now."

"I am happy, Abby," he said firmly. He turned towards her, pushing the drawer closed gently. "You need somethin'?"

"Maddie and Emily want ice cream, but Kate and I didn't know if it was okay," she said warmly.

Gibbs thought about it for a minute.

"Where'd you take 'em for lunch?" he asked.

"Er," Abby said, crinkling her nose. "McDonald's," she admitted.

Gibbs laughed.

"Well, if the diets are already ruined," he joked, gesturing back upstairs. "Yeah, yeah, I'll get it," he said. "I want to see what you and Kate did to my girl, anyway," he growled warningly.

"Oh, you'll love it," Abby said smartly. "She's ready to join the circus!"

Within the next few minutes, Gibbs saw exactly what Abby meant—clearly, she and Kate had decided to have fun with the makeup. For that, he was grateful, because instead of two little girls made up to look six years older than they should, he was faced with Emily and Madeleine, newest clowns for Ringling Brothers.

He laughed out loud when Madeleine came running towards him, bright blue eye shadow, comical red mouth, and all.

"Abby said I can do flips off an elephant!" she exclaimed.

"Who cares about college, then?" Gibbs retorted good-naturedly.

Madeleine giggled and held out her hands sassily.

"Look at _these_," she said, showing off her black, sparkly nail polish.

"Abby," Gibbs said, rolling his eyes. "She can't have that colour at school."

"I'll take it off later!" Abby promised, busy helping Kate curl Emily's hair.

Emily was looking at herself in a handheld mirror, her hands splayed near her face.

"My nails are red, Agent Gibbs," she said. "My mommy says red nails are for tramps."

Gibbs rolled his eyes. He remembered a statement like that coming out of Diane's mouth the first time she met Probie Shepard—and her bright red manicure. He didn't enlighten Emily about that and went into the kitchen to go about fixing ice cream.

"Daddy," Madeleine said, hopping around his feet. "Can we paint your nails?"

"No."

"Please!"

"_No_."

"Daddy!" Madeleine crossed her arms and pouted beautifully.

"It's not allowed at NCIS," he lied seriously.

"Oh that's okay," Madeleine said brightly, scampering off. "We can paint your toes! No one will see!" she yelled.

Gibbs gave the ice cream he was scooping a baleful look. He doubted he was going to be able to get out of this when he walked into that room and was assaulted by four girls—women—whatever. So he took his time rationing out the perfect amount of ice cream into two bowls and he finally dragged his feet into the living room where he saw that _Sleeping Beauty_ had won as the next movie.

"Where's ours?" Kate asked wryly, as Gibbs doled out the dessert.

"Have at it," he retorted pointing to the kitchen, as Madeleine took the bowl with one hand and sat directly down on his foot with the other.

If that child didn't stop abusing his feet…

Madeleine pointed to the foot she wasn't sitting on.

"ATTACK!" she shouted, and Kate and Abby both had the nerve to dive forward and grab his foot. Abby wrapped her arm around his shin and gave his leg a jerk so he was sitting on the couch, and Kate held up a bottle of thick nail polish

"It's called _Tickle My France-y_," she announced wickedly.

Gibbs immediately started up a valiant fight to get away from them, but it was difficult to do, since he didn't want to hurt Madeleine and she was still stoically seated on his foot while Emily giggled madly and tried to keep Oz away from her bowl of ice cream.

Ten minutes later, he'd been convinced they would never tell anyone that this happened if he did it just to make his daughter smile, and he grudgingly agreed as long as they could take it off immediately after—but while Madeleine was siting next to him forcing him to watch some part of the movie, he missed Abby sneaking a photo with her cell phone and saving it to send to Jenny.

* * *

><p>"Emmy," Gibbs said, valiantly attempting to distract Madeleine from the colouring book she was drawing in while she blithely chattered on to her mom. "Emmy, tell Mommy what you said the other day."<p>

"I say lots of things," Madeleine retorted obliquely.

Jenny snickered, and Gibbs rolled his eyes, pestering her still.

"Tell her what you said about _shoes_. _Tell_ her, Emmy," he nagged.

"What shoes?"

"The shoes Emily put on your feet," he reminded her earnestly—he was dying to hear Jen's reaction to this.

"Daddy," Madeline said seriously. "I am busy."

She went back to colouring, and Gibbs shot her a baleful look, turning sullenly to Jenny.

"She's _busy_, Jethro," Jenny repeated sassily. She arched a brow. "What did she say?"

Gibbs looked smug.

"She said 'I hate high heels.'"

Jenny glared at him.

"That isn't funny," she said dryly.

"I'm not joking," Gibbs retorted. "Direct quote: 'I hate high heels.' Emmy, do you like high heels?"

Madeleine scoffed beautifully.

"No," she snapped.

Jenny looked horrified.

"Madeleine!" she admonished lightly. "You're hurting Mommy's heart. Why don't you like them?"

"Um, Princess Leia never wore heels," explained Madeleine.

Jenny glared at Gibbs balefully.

"You've ruined her," she accused. "How could you let this happen? The thought that a child of mine could _hate_ high heels…" she shook her head, bemoaning the tragedy of it.

Oz ambled up to the couch and hopped halfway onto it, placing his upper body near Madeleine and thumping his tail on the floor. He licked her in the mouth and she giggled, crinkling her nose and puckering her lips at him playfully.

"Ozzyyyyy," she trilled, and Oz's tailed thumped louder.

Gibbs glanced around to make sure the tail wouldn't do any damage. Madeleine was sitting on the couch with the colouring book in front of her; he was on the floor in front of the coffee table, directly eye-level with Jen—who was busy looking particularly horrified.

"_Jethro_," she gasped, "Jethro, he's—the _dog_ is licking her _mouth_."

Gibbs nodded, unconcerned.

"Ew—Madeleine, honey, don't let him—Ox—don't let him kiss your mouth, that's gross—Jethro, get the dog off of her, he's _still licking her mouth_," Jenny whined, protesting unhappily.

Gibbs shrugged, hardly bothered.

"Ah, it's fine, Jen. Maddie thinks it's funny."

"It's disgusting—who knows where Ox's mouth has been?"

"Ima," barked Madeleine, hugging Oz's neck and peering over his ears. "His name is not Ox."

"It's-?"

"It's Oz, Jen," Gibbs corrected quietly.

"Oh…oh, I'm sorry sweetheart," Jenny murmured apologetically.

Madeleine put a hand on her hip.

"You remember my favorite colour?" she asked sharply.

Jenny looked startled. Gibbs reached over and put his hand on Madeleine's foot, swinging it back and forth gently in his hand.

"Hey, what's with the third degree?" he asked.

"I forgot you sometimes," Madeleine said to Gibbs uncertainly. She flung out her hand at Jenny on the computer. "She is forgetting me."

"I'm not!" Jenny exclaimed harshly. "You haven't told me your favorite colour in a while—Madeleine, I'm never going to forget you!" Jenny yelled, the same little choke springing into her tone that Gibbs had heard when he'd told her Diane had Madeleine.

"I'm sorry, Mommy, please don't yell at me," Madeleine said in a small voice.

Gibbs shot Jenny a reproachful look and twisted.

"C'mere," he said, waving his hands for Madeleine to climb into his lap. She did, looking uncertain, and leaned into him, snapping her fingers quietly for Oz to come nuzzle up to her. Jenny cupped her hand over her nose and eyes and turned away for a moment, and Madeleine tilted her head up to Gibbs.

"Mommy's crying," she whispered, eyes wide.

"It's not your fault," he promised, pulling her hair back. "She just misses you."

Madeleine licked her lips.

"Mommy," she said tentatively. "Ima," she pleaded. She held up her hands. "Look, my nails are painted pretty," she coaxed. "Ima."

Jenny pushed her hair back and leaned forward, swallowing hard.

"Your favorite colour was blue," she said hoarsely, "because it was the same colour as Aba's eyes. Is it still the same?"

Madeleine nodded slowly.

Gibbs smiled down at her. She wriggled her fingers again.

"Like them?"

Jenny smiled gently and nodded.

"Black," she murmured. "Very bold, Madeleine," she complimented. "I like the sparkles."

"Kate did them," Madeleine said. "She said it was more glam than Goth that way."

Jenny laughed weakly. She swiped at her face.

"Madeleine, you understand that I love you and I miss you very much, don't you?" she asked earnestly.

"I know," Madeleine said, blinking rapidly. She didn't say anything else, and Gibbs sensed Jenny was left feeling a little hollow. She sighed heavily and leaned back, rubbing her jaw and looking at Gibbs a little helplessly.

"I needed to tell you I'm about to get very busy," she said tightly, in a resigned manner. "I have a series of very complicated, high security operations coming up, and I won't be able to do this as frequently."

Gibbs nodded.

"You hear that, Madeleine?" he asked gently.

"Okay," she said.

Jenny looked upset. She glanced away again, turning her head in profile, and then she took a deep breath and leaned back, smiling brightly.

"After that, maybe I can come see you," she said firmly. "Maybe for your birthday?" she said, nodding her head. "I'll see what I can do, Madeleine," she promised.

Gibbs tried not to betray his skepticism on his face, but he was uncomfortable with Jenny even putting that idea in Madeleine's head, on the off chance she couldn't come through. Madeleine beamed, though, and nodded happily, starting to chatter—and holding up her nails again, explaining about the slumber party she'd had with Emily.

"Yes, I heard about that," Jenny remarked wryly. "In fact," she snapped her fingers. "Jethro, Abby sent me a very sexy picture of you…" she teased, trailing off.

Effectively jolted out of his apprehensive thoughts about Jenny's distress and her fumbling promise, he glared narrowly at the screen. Jenny smirked and clicked around for a moment, and the next thing he knew he was looking at a picture of Madeleine grinning like a fool, sitting next to his painted toes.

He sat forward stiffly, a stern look on his face.

"It's my screensaver," Jenny said primly.

"Delete it," he demanded, growling at her, "Jen, dammit—er," he clapped his hands over Madeleine's ears unhelpfully, even though she'd already heard— "Jen, delete it, _now_!"

* * *

><p>As winter crept into spring, Gibbs slowly discovered what Jenny had meant when she said she'd have less time to talk. Since Haswari had taken NCIS hostage in November, she had made it a priority to talk nearly all the time, but as it got closer to April, her calls and availability dropped off more and more until it was more of a haphazard, once every couple of weeks thing—and she often looked tired and stressed when she did call.<p>

In the meantime, Madeleine was spending her time ice skating, learning to read—which impressed Gibbs, as it were, and spending time with a new friend from daycare at a Jewish Community Center.

Gibbs was relieved that she had befriended a little Jewish girl in her class; it took some of the burden off his shoulders. This way, she was getting exposed enough to that religion to satisfy her without Gibbs having to try his best to help her with it.

Gibbs liked Delia and her parents, and it was nice to have another child for Madeleine to play with. She was still good friends with Hannah and Evelyn who had come to her birthday party, but other than Emily Fornell, Delia was the first with whom Madeleine had requested to go somewhere with.

He loosened up and let her go after he talked to Delia's parents. It would be best for them all, he had started to realize, if Madeleine spent less time around Diane. He could understand where Jenny's distaste came from when it came to that situation, even though he knew there was nothing untoward going on.

When Gibbs picked Madeleine up from Delia's house one Saturday, and found her unhappy, he was surprised—she was never unhappy after leaving Delia's.

Delia's mother was sitting with Madeleine on the porch and smiled good-naturedly when Gibbs strolled up the sidewalk.

"Hey, Jethro," she greeted calmly, patting Madeleine's shoulder. "We had a little mishap ten minutes ago," she announced.

Madeleine leapt up and scampered to Gibbs' knees, hugging him tightly.

"What happened?" Gibbs asked gruffly, glancing down. He tilted Madeleine's head back. Her eyes were red, but she didn't look hurt.

"Oh, a scrape or two on the knee, but that's not the bad part, is it, Mads?" Tamara Stein asked. She held out her palm and smiled crookedly. "Maddie fell off the swing, and when she broke her fall, her hand got stuck in her necklace," Tamara explained. "The clasp broke."

Gibbs reached out and took the Star of David necklace from Tamara's palm, frowning. He patted Madeleine's head comfortingly and smiled gruffly.

"I can fix it," he assured her.

"You can_not_," she whined. "It's broken _forever_," she moaned.

"Don't be dramatic," he admonished and bent down to show her. "It just needs to be tweaked a little here," he said. "I can do it with the basement tools."

Madeleine huffed skeptically and snuggled up to his legs again. Gibbs closed the necklace in his palm with his car keys.

"It'll be fine," he said, waving his hand flippantly. "She behave okay?"

"Oh, she's a treat," Tamara said earnestly. "Delia just loves her. We'll see you at school on Tuesday, Maddie," she added, waving.

Gibbs took Madeleine's hand, and Madeleine waved to Tamara and allowed herself to be lead sullenly towards the car where Gibbs helped her buckle in and she sat pouting. He got in the front seat and placed the necklace carefully in the cup holder.

"It's only bent a little, Emmy," he comforted. "I promise I can fix it."

"_Tali_ never broke it," Madeleine murmured unhappily. "Tali _never_ broke it, even in the fire. But I broke it."

"Well," Gibbs said gently. "You were having fun. You didn't mean to. The star is still perfect," he pointed out. "It's just the claspy part."

Madeleine looked at him in the mirror, her face long.

"Ziva trusted me," she said glumly. "I think it's bad luck."

He looked down at the slightly beat up necklace in the cup holder, frowning somewhat—he suddenly felt very guilty, on Ziva's behalf, that this necklace had been even a tiny bit broken.

* * *

><p>He fixed the necklace, and by the first pretty, springy week in the year, the bad feeling Madeleine's offhand comment about bad luck had given him was gone from his gut. Jenny's calls were even less frequent, but as the weather was warming up and Madeleine was distracted easily by play dates, ice skating, and her new (encouraged by Gibbs) interest in baseball—well, T-ball—she didn't notice as acutely that Jenny was available less often.<p>

On this particular Saturday, Gibbs was acquiescing to her wish to plant daisies in the garden out back. In the process, he'd discovered that the backyard garden seriously needed weeding and clearing out, so the simple process of planting daisies had turned into a lengthy job. He didn't mind, though—Madeleine liked being outside, and Oz was enjoying it twice as much as she was. The amount of time that animal could be occupied with a mere squeaky ball was mind-boggling.

"Sorry Daddy," yelled Madeleine, as she threw the ball in his direction and, for the umpteenth time, Oz overexcitedly crashed into Gibbs' lap in an attempt to get past him and fetch it.

Gibbs just rolled his eyes good-naturedly and casually helped Oz up by shoving his rapidly growing furry body out of his lap and pushing him towards the ball. Madeleine giggled and ran forward, stopping by Gibbs' shoulder to rest and look at the flowerbed. She nudged his arm with her nose and grinned.

"Daddy, 'member when Pony glued Timmy to his computer?" she asked—the thousandth time she'd brought up the memory and burst into hysterical giggles about it.

DiNozzo was introducing Madeleine to the spirit of April Fool's Day a good couple of weeks before it actually happened, and Gibbs was about sick of it.

"I remember," he drawled gruffly, nodding his head. "It wasn't as funny as you and Pony think it was, Emmy," he chastised gently.

"Because Timmy's skin might not grow back," Madeleine recited solemnly, and then started laughing and pranced off after Oz again. "Pony and I will prank you next, Aba!" she ensured him.

"We'll see about _that_," he muttered under his breath.

He figured he had a good ten years left before Madeleine learned how to even slightly hoodwink him. Kelly had never gotten the hang of it; even when he was letting her get away with stuff, he'd known exactly what she was up to. But he'd never had a teenage daughter before, and from what he heard—they were hell.

It was, however, a hell he would rather face given the alternative.

He glanced over at Madeleine as she darted around teasing the good-natured dog with his squeaky toy, and then went back to planting the daisies. Next weekend, he was taking her back to Stillwater for Easter. Abby had wanted to keep Madeleine here for Easter and do an egg hunt at NCIS, but at Christmas Jackson had finagled a promise out of Gibbs for an Easter visit, and caught Madeleine's attention with the promise of baby chickens. Gibbs intended to keep his word and had placated Abby by entrusting her with the task of coming up with something to do for Passover with Madeleine. It was at the very end of April, and Gibbs was still doing all in his ability to please Madeleine when it came to keeping up with being Jewish.

He didn't know how he felt about spending so much time with his father. Some might not consider two holidays a year very much time, but for Gibbs, it was monumental. After Shannon and Kelly's funeral, he hadn't seen Jackson again until he'd brought Madeleine to meet him. Madeleine loved him instantly, and Jackson didn't want to be deprived of Madeleine—and this time around, keeping in mind the struggle he went through with Jenny, Gibbs was reluctant to ostracize his daughter from any of the family she could have.

You did what you had to for family.

"Oz!" shrieked Madeleine. "Oz, NO! Oz, what are you doing? That's pretty, stop scratching it!"

Gibbs turned around to see Madeleine tugging lightly on Oz's tail, trying to pull him away from the hydrangea bush he was madly digging under.

"OZ!" she demanded, stamping her little foot.

Gibbs jumped up and went over quickly, very much intent on preventing the damn dog from digging up flowers Shannon had planted when they first moved in, but when he crouched down and grabbed Oz's collar to pull him back, he was halted—Oz had uncovered something in the hydrangeas.

"Hey," Gibbs snapped gruffly. "Oz, heel," he ordered, and Oz stepped back, relaxing on his haunches. "Sit," Gibbs ordered; Oz obeyed, wagging his tail, licking his chops, and accepting a rough sort of absent-minded pat on the head from Gibbs. "Whatcha got here, boy?" Gibbs muttered, leaning forward and brushing soil out of the way.

"Daddy, did Oz uncover treasure?" Madeleine piped up, skipping up closer and hanging over Gibbs' shoulder.

He patted her hand and leaned forward, releasing Oz and digging into the deep hole the dog had made with both hands. Dirt got under his nails and crumbled over his arms, but he dug a little more determinedly and tugged the object Oz had nosed up against out of the soil and onto his knee.

"What's that?" Madeleine asked, standing on tiptoes and peering over his shoulder.

Gibbs sat backwards and pulled one leg up, resting his arm on it. He placed the beaten up, square tin box on the grass near his foot and brushed at it gently with his palm, squinting his eyes to see the design through the caked on mud and earth.

"It's a lunchbox," he grunted, when he finally realized he was looking at Kelly's kindergarten, Strawberry Shortcake collector's item lunchbox.

Oz wagged his tail and barked.

He didn't understand _what_ he was looking at. He vaguely remembered Kelly receiving this from her grandmother for a birthday, but at the same time he had absolutely no idea how it had ended up in the backyard—and he knew, _distinctly_, where everything that had ever belonged to his late daughter now was, whether he had stored it, donated it, or passed it to Joanne and Mac Fielding.

He rested his palm on the old, raised pictures of Strawberry Shortcake, flicking off more dust.

Madeleine pushed at him and ducked under his arms, sitting down in front of him and picking it up.

"I want to open it," she said firmly, and reached for the clasps.

"Wait," he growled, and grabbed her hands before she could do anything.

She twisted up and glared at him insistently.

He wasn't sure why he stopped her, except that he didn't know what was in it, and he didn't really know if he wanted to know. Kelly had never had pets, so there was nothing so morbid as a little hamster skeleton in there—and it couldn't have been something she did after he last saw her, because other than the Christmas they spent in Stillwater, they had been at Pendleton. Shannon must have known about it—whatever it was—because this was her flower bush, and she was the only one who had ever tended to it.

"Aba," whined Madeleine. "It's mysterious," she trilled curiously. "Let me open!"

He still hesitated—he blinked, and he abruptly remembered a day when Maddie Tyler had been over to play, and he'd snapped a picture of the two of them—Maddie and Kelly—giggling wildly, right in this very spot. Was this—_lunchbox_—what had been so funny?

If that were so, then this was Maddie's as much as it was his, and maybe it had some significance he should talk to her about before—

Madeleine wrenched her hand out of his and, with two rapid flicks of her wrist, undid the clasps on the lunchbox and popped it open deftly.

"Madeleine Jane, I told you to _wait_!" he barked, startled.

She hunched back reluctantly, given pause by his tone, and sulkily turned her head up.

"But it's buried treasure," she said in a soft voice.

He looked down at her, trying to avoid looking at the lunchbox, but Oz lowered his nose to it and began snuffling around, and that was something Gibbs couldn't take. He leaned forward, his arm loosely around Madeleine's middle, and waved the dog away, pulling the lunchbox a little closer and peering inside.

Madeleine reached in and drew out a long, yellow silk ribbon, frayed at the edges.

"Pretty," she cooed, and handed it to him. "Put it in my hair," she said blithely, but he took it and ran his hands over it, shaking his head.

"No, Emmy," he denied her quietly—and she was too busy moving on to hear him.

"What are these?" she asked brightly, holding up two pink and purple toys.

Gibbs looked down, reaching out to study them. He wound the ribbon around his hand and placed his palm under Madeleine's hand, lifting the toys closer.

"Polly Pocket toys," he said gruffly. "Tiny Barbies," he added, when she gave him a confused look.

Madeleine pressed them into her palm and picked up an old push-pop candy from the eighties.

"Is this food?" she asked with wonder.

Gibbs laughed hoarsely.

"Not anymore," he said, taking that, too.

He reached around Madeleine and picked up the picture and the drawing sitting on top. One was drawn in bright crayon; complete with stick figures, hearts, and the words _Best Buddies! –Love Maddie T!_. The picture was one of Maddie Tyler and Kelly sitting on the front porch, sticking their tongues out happily at the camera, arms around each other's necks. Gibbs held them up next to each other, and Madeleine pointed at the photo.

"Who?" she demanded.

Gibbs cleared his throat.

"This is Big Maddie," he said, pointing to the waifish little blonde girl. He rested the pad of his finger against his daughter's one-dimensional face for a moment. "This is my Kelly, Madeleine," he introduced.

"Oh," Madeleine said.

She dropped her hands into her lap for a moment, and then leaned forward, blowing hair out of her face. The next things she pulled out of the lunchbox were a simple painting of a horse and a crumpled paper fortuneteller—one of those silly things little girls were always using to tell them who they were going to marry.

Gibbs took it from Madeleine and gave it a look—so Kelly had been eight, and thinking about marriage. He snorted to himself, and shook his head, laying some of the items carefully in his lap and lifting the flaps to see just who on base had caught his daughter's attention. He recognized the surnames—men he'd served with, good men; some who hadn't come home.

It was like looking at a completely different life.

Madeleine pinched Gibbs' knee.

"Look," she said, jingling some plastic dog tags. "It's like Oz's necklace!" she announced, turning them over in her hands and examining them.

She ran her fingers over the lettering, and Gibbs pulled her closer, putting his head next to hers to look. He remembered giving them to Kelly for her fourth birthday—one said _Kelly_, one said _Daddy_.

He pulled that one into his hand, while Madeleine twirled the other around her fingers. She soon grew bored of it, and placed it in the lid of the lunchbox while she moved on. She giggled, and pulled out another folded piece of paper.

"We did this for Thanks Day in school!" she announced proudly, holding up a tracing of Kelly's hand.

It was signed at the bottom—_KG, November 1990_. He took a side of it, and Madeleine suddenly pressed her hand into the tracing, tilting her head as if she could see if it would fit. She frowned a little.

"My hand is too small," she said.

Gibbs looked at her hand spread over an imprint of Kelly's, unsure for a moment if he would be able to speak. He cleared his throat and rested his hand on Madeleine's head, ruffling her hair lightly and pulling her a little closer.

"She was six when she drew this," he said, noting the date. "You're only four."

Madeleine seemed placated, and reached for the last few things in the box. Rolled up in the bottom, Gibbs could see, was Kelly's old, torn NIS shirt—the one she always wore camping, or to work on the boat with him. Madeleine was holding two friendship bracelets, beaded with multicolored, many shaped beads, and a folded piece of paper, which she passed to him.

"This says your name on it," she said primly. "Mommy taught me how to spell and see your name."

He took the note, which had _Daddy_ written on the front, and smiled. Of course, Madeleine thought that was his name—and that was fine with him. He looked at the note and slowly unfolded it, unsure what he would find.

It was Kelly's handwriting, he noticed that before he really let himself read it—and it was written in magic marker that had once been a bright pink.

"_Dear Daddy,  
>I love you so much! I buried this so we could open it together when I get older. I miss you!<br>Love, Kelly."_

He read it, over and over, until the words were blurry and incomprehensible and he had memorized them—_so we could open it together when I get older_. It was a time capsule. A treasure box filled with all of the things Kelly had decided were important to her—and Kelly had no idea how important this was to him right now, in this very moment. It was almost—surreally—like she was standing somewhere just beyond his line of sight, watching and giggling. It was so bittersweet to read this and know her future had been ripped away from her, and she had been yanked away from him, but to discover this secret of hers that he'd never known before.

He brought the note to his mouth, setting his jaw.

He was hazily aware that Madeleine had the two friendship bracelets around her wrist and was jingling them a little.

"Back, Oz," she ordered in a stern tone when the dog nudged forward to see what she was dangling.

She spun around quickly and was on her knees, sitting up like a meerkat. She took his hand and slid the bracelets onto it without saying anything. She blinked at him, staring until he removed the piece of paper from his mouth and gruffly tried to clear his throat. He tucked Kelly's note into a pocket on his work shirt and unsnapped the ball and chain clasp on the dog tag that said Daddy. He silently slipped it around his neck.

Madeleine said sweetly, "I shall put all the treasure back in Kelly's box, Daddy."

He watched her do it with care, his eyes fixated alternately on the Star of David necklace Madeleine wore, and the items Oz was hawkishly eyeing as she tucked them back into Kelly's lunchbox. He was having difficult time working through his thoughts; for a moment he wondered what it would be like to see Madeleine and Kelly play together, but there was no situation in which that would have ever been possible. But he loved them both so much—there were days when he had prayed every second for the chance to have Kelly back, and yet these days, he more often than not left her in peace.

Except for moments like these, when he was suddenly acutely reminded, and he knew that there would never come a time when he would stop missing Kelly, there would only come a time when the memory of her would always bring a smile.

Madeleine took the bracelets from his wrist, but without a word he held back the one that he noticed had an _M_ lettered bead on it. He had to give Maddie Tyler a call about this, and offer to show her the contents—and she deserved to keep this friendship bracelet. Madeleine reached for the dog tag, but Gibbs shook his head.

"Emmy," he said, "this one stays here," he said, and patted his chest close to his heart, where the dog tag was resting under his shirt.

"Okay," she said, and turned around and closed the lunchbox gently.

She crouched down close to it and brushed it earnestly, blowing on it for extra dust, and Gibbs stared at the back of her head, reaching absently for the note in his pocket again. Grasping for it, the edge cut his thumb, and he brought it to his lips to suck off the speck of blood that the paper cut caused.

_I love you so much!...I miss you! Love, Kelly. _

His throat seized, and his eyes stung. He brought his hand up to his eyes and rubbed harshly, but it was futile.

"Aba," Madeleine said quietly.

She reached out with her small hands and touched his cheeks, her fingers sliding uncertainly over skin that, because it was wet, was unfamiliar to her. He rubbed his eyes hard again and lowered his hand, his gaze falling to the necklace around Madeleine's throat. Tali's necklace—and Tali and Kelly had been born in the same year.

Gibbs put his hand under Madeleine's chin and cleared his throat roughly again.

"I love you, Madeleine," he said.

She nodded. She put her hands on his eyes and frowned. She hadn't ever seen Daddy cry before, and she pulled her hands away and looked at them, and wiggled them, frowning a little.

"Daddy, you need the boat," she said solemnly, always, always remembering that the boat helped when you were feeling sad or missing Mommy.

He laughed hoarsely and shook his head, shifting forward and pulling her into a tight, bear hug—her favorite kind.

"No," he muttered, squeezing her, and nodding over her shoulder. "_We_ need daisies."

He didn't really let go, though, so Madeleine limply allowed herself to be hugged, sensing somehow that this wasn't one of those times when she could cutely just _wriggle_ away.

* * *

><p>Preschool was closed for the upcoming Easter holidays, so on Maundy Thursday—as Kate kept calling it—Madeleine was smugly enjoying being in the bullpen, and Gibbs was pointedly trying to forget that the last time he had brought Madeleine to work on a day that wasn't Monday, Haswari had kidnapped her.<p>

It had been a completely normal day so far, and that was a relief. He and Madeleine were leaving for Stillwater after work, and he was glad there was nothing crazy going on.

"Are you excited to see your grandfather again, Maddie?" Kate asked kindly.

Madeleine was sitting in her lap colouring at her desk while Kate sorted through some bank statements for filing electronically. Upon hearing the question, Madeleine tilted her head back and very seriously stared at Kate.

"There will be baby chickens," she said solemnly. "Fluffy, yellow, cute, baby chickens!" she reiterated.

"Bet they're not as cute as you," Kate said, arching an eyebrow.

"Um, baby chickens are pretty cute, Kate," Madeleine said matter-of-factly. She smiled wryly. "Daddy is letting me have one."

"No, I'm not," Gibbs retorted, shooting that idea down for the hundredth time.

He really didn't know where Madeleine had gotten the idea that she could bring a _chicken_ home from Stillwater.

"Hey," DiNozzo piped up seriously. "Can I have a chick? I like chicks."

"That isn't funny, DiNozzo," Kate snapped at him.

"Yes," Madeleine answered. "I shall bring you a baby chicken, too. You have to name it," Madeleine tilted her head, and then pointed at McGee. "Timmy. You must name it Timmy."

"What? I'm not naming my pet chicken after McFarmer McGee," Tony protested loudly.

"You're not gettin' a chicken, DiNozzo," Gibbs growled.

"Yes!" Madeleine insisted.

"Doesn't sound like it's up to you, Boss," DiNozzo gloated, pointing a pencil at Madeleine.

"Your baby chicken is Timmy, and mine is Pony," Madeleine went on seriously.

"You want a chicken named Pony?" Tony asked skeptically. "You're a confused kid, Maddie."

"_Hey_," snapped Gibbs.

"Well, you're dumb," Madeleine responded blithely.

Tony made an outraged noise and flung out his palms.

"Boss, you gonna let her use language like that?"

Gibbs didn't answer for a moment.

"Boss!" whined DiNozzo.

"Always did teach my daughter to tell the truth, DiNozzo," Gibbs remarked mildly.

McGee snorted. Kate shot DiNozzo a smug look and laughed. He looked abashed for a moment and then affected a sulky look.

"Madeleine, come sit with me. Everyone over there is mean," he coaxed.

"No," she said sweetly. She leaned down, trusting Kate to make sure she didn't fall, and picked up a green basket. "I'm sitting with Kate today. Kate made me a basket for my Easter treats," she said, showing off the gift.

It was a simple green Easter basket that Kate had bought at the store and then decorated with ribbons and glitter. She'd said it was something she usually did for her nieces, but she wasn't able to go home for the holiday, so she'd done it for Madeleine.

"Kate bribed you," DiNozzo remarked sullenly.

"Pretty eggs go in the basket," Madeleine said. "And my pet chicken."

"Madeleine, you _can't_ have a chicken," Gibbs said again, rolling his eyes.

She glared at him.

"I will have a chicken."

"Fine," Gibbs retorted finally. "Oz will eat it."

Madeleine looked taken aback. She frowned. She didn't seem to like the idea of her precious dog eating this pet chicken she was so foolishly dreaming of. She stared at her father a moment longer, thinking about it, and abandoned the subject for something else.

"Timmy, where do you go for Easter?"

"Oh," he said, startled. "Oh, uh, Abby and I are spending it with my sister. And my mother."

"You have a mom?" Madeleine asked with a gasp.

"Everyone has a mom," McGee said, shrugging.

"But you're big!" Madeleine retorted. She pointed at Gibbs. "He doesn't have a mom! My mommy doesn't!"

"Um," McGee stammered. "Well, Gibbs is old, his mom probably died," he said lamely, and then winced under the glare that he received from his boss.

Madeleine shot a horrified look at Gibbs.

"I'm not going to die, Emmy," he placated calmly. "I'm not old, either," he added, glaring at McGee again.

"Yeah, Boss is only—what, forty?" DiNozzo wheedled.

Gibbs didn't answer. He went back to work; his ears open to monitor the conversation.

"Are you married to Abby?" Madeleine asked.

Gibbs found himself glaring over his computer at McGee again.

"No," McGee answered, his face fuchsia, while DiNozzo leered at him gleefully.

"Because it's against the rules," Tony said solemnly, his eyes glinting. "Maddie, Gibbs doesn't let NCIS people marry other NCIS people."

Madeleine laughed.

"Is that why you didn't marry Ima?" she asked Gibbs innocently.

"What?"

"What?"

"_What_?!"

Three different voices were immediately directed at Gibbs with varying degrees of confusion and interest. Gibbs rubbed his forehead tensely, looking at Madeleine through his fingers with a mixture of exasperation and annoyance.

"Madeleine. We talked about this," he admonished tightly.

She snapped her fingers and put her palm on her head.

"Oh!" she cried, misinterpreting him completely. He meant to remind her that he'd told her not to announce personal things to everyone, but what she responded with was: "I forgot—Mommy works for Mossad!"

Gibbs just stared at Madeleine. He didn't want to correct her in front of the class, and her confusion was heartwarming.

Perhaps the best part of the debacle was DiNozzo actually falling out of his chair onto the floor.

* * *

><p>In the car on the way to Pennsylvania, Madeleine chucked Gibbs' cell phone into the front seat, ignoring his request that she hand it to him when she was done. He rolled his eyes, forced to reach over and grab it, and held it to his ear.<p>

"Jen?" he asked.

"What was that noise?"

"She threw the cell phone at me."

"Well. That wasn't very ladylike of her," Jenny remarked, startled.

"Lady," snorted Gibbs, glancing at Madeleine in the rearview mirror. She tilted her head at him, trussed up in the animal print sunglasses Kate had given her for Christmas—even though the sun was no longer out. "She's a diva."

Jenny laughed tiredly.

"She sounds excited to be going to see your father again," she said.

"Yeah, well, she likes 'im," Gibbs grunted. "Can't figure why. Guess what your daughter did today?"

"Something unflattering, I suppose, since you're not claiming her," Jenny retorted dryly.

"Hmm," Gibbs muttered. "She told the team you work for Mossad."

"_What_?"

"Yeah. Before that, she told 'em you worked for NCIS, but got confused, and changed it to Mossad."

"You're confused, Daddy."

Gibbs ignored Madeleine.

Jenny laughed incredulously.

"Is the cat out of the bag?" she asked earnestly.

"No," Gibbs answered. "She didn't say your name. And DiNozzo's going to want to think you work for Mossad, so don't expect any creepy phone calls."

"You really think this Tony DiNozzo would track me down and call me?" Jenny laughed skeptically.

"Yes," Gibbs answered, one hundred percent serious.

Jenny sighed, amused.

"What a little gossip that kid of mine is," she remarked.

"She also asked if us workin' together is why I didn't marry you," Gibbs ventured casually.

"I hope you told her it's _actually_ because you ran out of money to buy engagement rings," Jenny retorted primly.

"Ha ha," Gibbs laughed pointedly.

"Does she want us to get married?" Jenny asked.

Gibbs checked on Madeleine in the mirror again. She was pursing her lips and letting Oz lick her in the mouth—they were taking Oz with them again; it was easier than finding someone to watch him. The team all lived in apartments, and Ducky's home had too many of the fragile corgis, not to mention his mother.

"Nah, I don't think she thinks about it," he said honestly. "Her mind is all over the place."

"I want to talk to Mommy again," Madeleine piped up, turning and reaching out stubbornly.

"You hear her?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes," Jenny answered. "Put me back on with her in a minute."

"How long until we next hear from you?"

"Ah," Jenny sighed, hesitating. "I don't know," she sounded tired again. "Could be three or four weeks."

Gibbs grunted unhappily.

"I don't like this, Jen," he said.

"It's not easy," she responded diplomatically. "But believe me, when I'm done, it'll be worth it."

He nodded to himself, and cleared his throat.

"Okay, here's Maddie," he said, handing the phone carefully back to his daughter after Jenny said a quick, sincere goodbye to him.

"Ima, Oz wants to say hello," Madeleine said, and promptly let Oz start licking the cell phone.

* * *

><p>Ignoring the late hour, Jackson Gibbs offered his son a cup of coffee after Madeleine had been put to bed in her room above the store. Gibbs, naturally, accepted, and they both sat at the wooden table in the back, sipping the black brew in silence—like father like son.<p>

"How are things with you and her mother?" Jackson prodded, raising his brows.

"She still lives in Egypt," grunted Gibbs.

"Bummer," muttered Jackson. "But, you two are still steady?"

"_Steady_?" repeated Gibbs, bemused. "Yeah, Dad, I got her wearin' my pin."

"You know what I mean, son, even if I ain't usin' hip lingo," Jackson retorted sternly. He turned a good glare on Gibbs. "You 'n' her are together?"

Gibbs took a long sip of coffee and nodded his head.

"Yeah," he confirmed gruffly. He smirked and shook his head. "You really want to talk about my love life?" he snorted skeptically.

"It ain't your love life'm worried about. You never had trouble gettin' women, Leroy, you just had trouble keepin' 'em. What I've been worried about for a long time is your soul, and whether or not it's hurtin' or whole," Jackson said boldly. "I reckon I want to hear if this gal's good for your soul. I know the little one is."

Gibbs said nothing, and just looked intently at his father. He cupped his hands around his mug, letting the warmth of the ceramic sink into his palms and raised his eyes a little, thinking about Madeleine sleeping above them. She was good for his soul—hell, she was good for anyone's soul.

"I'd sure like to meet this lady, Leroy," Jackson said shortly. "You know, you didn't do me the courtesy of introducing me to the other three."

Gibbs shook his head.

"You knew Shannon," he accused. "Jesus, Dad, she spent Christmases here."

"The ones after her, I mean," Jackson amended.

Gibbs shook his head, slower this time, and lifted two fingers.

"It was two," he said quietly. "Two after her."

"I thought you were pretty serious with one after—what was her name, number two?"

"Diane."

"After her."

Gibbs shook his head, a resigned look on his face.

"How do you find out these things?" he demanded mildly.

"I got my sources just like you do," retorted Jackson. "Where d'you think you got your all-seeing eye, Leroy?"

Gibbs arched an eyebrow.

"Joanne still spies on me," he guessed.

"Wonderful woman, that Joanne," said Jackson. He nodded. "Yeah, she reckoned you were headed for another wedding. What happened?"

Gibbs leaned back and rubbed his mouth.

"Jen called," he answered finally, pointing up at the ceiling, indicating Madeleine.

It wasn't the whole truth—he and Stephanie had never quite gotten engaged, and Jenny had called right as she was ending things with him, so Jenny hadn't really broken them up. But he was glad she'd given him a reason not to chase after Stephanie and drag her into something broken and wrong.

"And you showed up here three years later with a kid and give me some cockamamie story about accidents and women who work for the Israelis and damn bombs going off and custody change ups," growled Jackson good-naturedly.

Gibbs smiled into his coffee mug, thinking briefly over the first four years of Madeleine's life and the seriously insane things that had happened.

With a shrug, he said: "It's all true," and the two men finished their coffee in comfortable silence as Good Friday dawned.

* * *

><p>Jackson Gibbs was stealthily operating his old camera as he stood out behind the store on some of his property, watching Leroy and Madeleine in the chicken pen. Madeleine had sleuthed out all the coloured eggs Jackson had hidden fairly quickly, and she was devoting all her time now to playing with the newly hatched chicks out back.<p>

Leroy was sitting in there with her, holding her in his lap and teaching her to hold them without hurting them. They still made high-pitched squeaking noises when she cuddled them, and Jackson noticed his granddaughter liked to imitate them, burst into giggles at herself, and continue trying to imitate the chicks through her laughter.

Her poor baby of a dog was tied up near, far away from the chickens, thumping his tail and whining forlornly. Jackson hung around by Oz, keeping him company, and trying his best not to get caught snapping pictures. Leroy was notoriously camera shy, and while Jackson had plenty of photos of Shannon and Kelly, he only had a few that his son was actually in—and even those looked like he had appeared there by accident.

In addition to wanting some keepsakes for himself, Jackson had the foresight to know this girl of Leroy's might want some photos that memorialize what she had missed. So the way Jackson Gibbs figured it, a few pictures of Madeleine and Leroy playing with baby chickens on Easter Sunday weren't just warranted—they were required.

He was gruffly pleased that he'd now seen Leroy twice within a few months. He would have never expected him to show up unannounced last year with that little girl, but he was damn glad to see it. No matter how estranged their relationship had been since—well, since Leroy's mother had died—Jackson had never stopped worrying about his son after that horrible accident in ninety-one. Things had been so awful—understandably so—but for the longest time, Jackson had waited tensely for news that Leroy had just given up.

Leroy had never given up though, and whatever had kept him clinging to life after he lost his girls had pushed him to a moment that made going on worth it, and Jackson was willing to bet that moment was holding Madeleine for the first time.

As for Jackson, he was delighted with his second granddaughter, and he planned on barreling his way into a visit up to Leroy's D.C. house in the very near future.

He put the camera to his face and fiddled with the lens, zooming in a little. He watched with his hands posed on the shutter button for a moment as Madeleine stood up and carefully raised a baby chicken higher slowly—slowly—until she had placed it on Leroy's head and was laughing like crazy again. He remained still, with a comical look on his face, and Madeleine scrunched up her nose and leaned forward and pressed it against his.

Jackson snapped the picture.

* * *

><p>The brief vacation in Stillwater was followed by a maddeningly hectic three weeks of heavy casework. As graduation season got closer, misdemeanors and small crimes from the academy and base high schools rocketed upwards, leading to a lot of annoying investigations that usually just turned up kids having fun. Mixed in with those were several grueling murder cases and one seriously heinous kidnapping—involving a blind little girl—that still had Gibbs' reeling as he sat on the bleachers at one of Madeleine's T-ball practices.<p>

In a race against the clock to get a naval officer's wife rescued safely, they had finally unraveled that he had been the one orchestrating their kidnapping, and when mother and daughter were reunited, it was all Gibbs could do to keep from strangling the bastard who'd given so much up for a quick payday.

He chose to channel his violent anger into a quiet afternoon with Madeleine; he'd sped through his paperwork and left early, leaving the clean up to the team and giving Noemi a call to tell her he'd be picking Madeleine up from preschool and taking her to practice.

Watching her four- and five-year-old age group was endlessly amusing, and since he didn't want to think about any more _bad_ guys today, he was more than happy to stay for the practice. The whole little league, which was co-ed and done through a Rock Creek Park program, was all in good fun and much more about teaching than competition or pressure. Gibbs hoped Madeleine would like it and want to play baseball when she was older, but he didn't intend to force her into anything.

Right now, his main concern was that she kept swinging her bat at the baseball perched on the tee, and instead of hitting it, spinning around in a circle and falling into the dirt with a burst of hysterical laughter. Granted, she wasn't the only little girl doing it, but he was watching with a mixture of pained exasperation and genuine amusement.

He leaned forward, arms on his knees, as Madeleine's coach came over and showed her how to hold the bat and plant her feet without falling down. Gibbs was sure she'd already been told how to do this and was really just enjoying the spinning, but he entertained the hope that she'd get wise and swing one out of the park so he'd have something to be smug about the next time he talked to Jenny.

_If_ Jenny ever took a break from work to call them. He hadn't really heard from her since the talk on the car ride to Stillwater. He had a brief e-mail here or there to let him know she was busy but thinking about Madeleine—so he didn't worry—but e-mails were impersonal and he hated them, and the few e-mails he did get only contributed to the increasingly bad feeling he was getting about these supposed big operations she was spending her time running. She could tell him absolutely nothing about them, and he wasn't stupid enough to pester Morrow for information, either.

He found himself wishing for the days right after Haswari's NCIS altercation that had resulted in her calling every single night to talk to Madeleine—but the curious thing was, these days, Madeleine seemed to notice less and less that Jenny wasn't available as much.

Gibbs wouldn't go so far as to say Madeleine didn't care, she just didn't actively ask. She mentioned Jen a healthy amount, she was excited to chatter to her when Jenny did call, but she seemed to have adopted a very out-of-sight, out-of-mind mindset to the situation, and Gibbs wasn't sure if he was happy with it or not. He didn't want her to be miserably pining for her mother, but as he'd been in the position where Madeleine hadn't known him and hadn't really missed him when he was gone, he also didn't want her to brush Jenny's role in her life aside.

When she'd lived in Israel, Jenny had been the center of Madeleine's world; it had been just the two of them for such a long time, until Jen had branched out and found Becca and allowed Madeleine her time in Montessori school, but for the most part it had been a sheltered world in which Madeleine knew a total of four people intimately, was instructed to acknowledge strangers only if she'd been given a sign, and spent her free time playing quietly and mildly at Jenny's feet.

Here she had distractions galore and friends and all kinds of things to do. She had more freedom, less fear, a web of safety surrounding her—and she was older; she was starting to come into a personality, and all of that was happening without Jenny.

Gibbs worried about her lack of a constant mother more than he'd ever worried about Kelly's lack of a constant father. He just didn't think about it the same way—and maybe it was sexist or old fashioned, but he couldn't shake the feeling that she was missing out on something she really should have at this age.

"Daddy!" Madeleine shouted, rattling the chain-link cage around her field. "Daddy!" she shouted again, jumping up and down.

He straightened and raised his brows, sure he _hadn't_ heard a ball colliding with a bat—so he hadn't missed a spectacular hit.

"What, Emmy?" he drawled.

"I struck out!" she told him smugly, tossing her hair as if she had just been crowned Miss America.

Gibbs grinned at her and rubbed his jaw with a good-natured wince.

"Well, uh, as long as you're having fun, Mads."

* * *

><p>It was early in Cairo when Jenny finally collapsed at her desk and picked up the phone to call Jethro. She was exhausted, and she was about to have a two-day rest period before they started operational procedures for the missions she'd been orchestrating for months on end. It was close to Mother's Day, and she felt like she hadn't talked to her baby in a thousand years—and as the phone rang on and on, she had the strangling fear no one was going to answer.<p>

At last the line picked up and she heard vivacious giggling on the other end before a female—a mature female—voice came over the line.

"Um, Hello?"

Jenny frowned, taken aback. She took a deep breath, mustering her professional demeanor up one last time, and cleared her throat.

"Hello," she returned. "Is—may I speak with Agent Gibbs?" she faltered. She felt it would be rude to simply demand to know who the hell the female was answering the phone, but she was really too tired to deal with intrigue.

"I'm sorry, he's out at the moment. Can I take a message?"

More giggling, and it sounded as if the woman was trying to compose herself.

Jenny made an impatient, short noise.

"Can I ask who this is?" she retorted tensely.

The giggling stopped.

"My name is Maddie," the woman answered a little uncertainly.

Jenny closed her eyes, her brow furrowing—confused. There was no way she'd missed _that_ much.

"I'm Madeleine's babysitter," she clarified.

Jenny sighed.

"This is Madeleine's mother," she said, softening her voice.

"Oh!" said the babysitter excitedly. "Oh, hello! I'm sorry, Gibbs didn't tell me to expect you to call! I'm Maddie Tyler," she introduced herself again. "I work at Emmy's school. And sometimes I babysit her on the sly," she added, laughing. "Hey, Madeleine, your mother is on the phone," Jenny heard her say.

Jenny lowered the phone from her ear and mouthed the girl's name. Maddie Tyler. It sounded familiar—she remembered abruptly; Gibbs telling her Kelly's best friend had been named Maddie. This babysitter was, technically, Madeleine Gibbs' sort-of namesake. Jenny smiled a little—she wondered what it meant, that Jethro was connecting with a part of his old life like this.

"Madeleine is very excited to speak with you," Maddie said.

"Just a moment," Jenny said quietly. "You said Jethro wasn't home?"

"No, he's out. I'm sorry," Maddie said apologetically, and Jenny checked her watch.

"Where is he?" she asked.

It was a Saturday, and she couldn't imagine what had taken Gibbs away from Madeleine on a Saturday afternoon.

"He's grocery shopping," Maddie Tyler said amiably. "He worked a lot this week and didn't notice there was no food for the weekend. He doesn't take Madeleine anymore because last time she opened a box of Oreos and started licking them when he said he wouldn't buy them for her."

Jenny blinked in astonishment, surprised to hear of any such delinquent behavior from her daughter.

"_Well_," she muttered, affronted. She sighed heavily—she had really been hoping to talk with Jethro, but Madeleine was more than enough. "Thank you, Miss Tyler. May I speak with my daughter?"

"Sure," Maddie said, breaking into giggles again as she handed off the phone. "Ahh, Oz!" she cried, and a moment later, after some scrambling, Madeleine's familiar voice was soothing Jenny's exhausted heart.

* * *

><p>Gibbs shut Morrow's door gently and strolled up to the Director's desk, rubbing his brow with a baleful expression.<p>

"I hope you called me up here to ask me to fix the air conditioning," he said dryly, and received a dim smile from Morrow in return.

"We're working on it," he assured the agent, gesturing for Gibbs to sit. "In the meantime, I'd appreciate it if you'd remind DiNozzo to keep his pants on whenever possible."

"Been there, Sir," Gibbs retorted, with a small eye roll.

He sat back, uncomfortable in the muggy heat of the building, and waited. He hadn't done anything rogue or infuriating this week, so he wasn't exactly clear on why he was sitting in Morrow's office in the first place. Morrow did not waste time, jumping right in.

"What has your contact with Shepard been like lately?" he asked.

"Scarce," answered Gibbs gruffly, immediately wary of being questioned about his personal life.

Morrow nodded intently.

"So you're aware her communication availability has been decreasing."

"She mentioned it."

"Good," muttered Morrow. "Then this won't come as a shock," he said, and diplomatically went on: "I thought I'd do you the courtesy of warning you that Shepard is going to be completely off the radar for about three weeks."

Gibbs set his jaw uncomfortably and considered the information for a moment.

"Completely?"

"Total radio silence," Morrow confirmed. "She will be unable to make any contact at all without risking the integrity of the undercover operation she's running. I myself will be hazy on intelligence as it unfolds."

Gibbs gave a curt nod. He held his hand out and pointed sarcastically to his chest.

"There's no chance you're gonna tell me what she's into?" he asked balefully.

"I'm sorry, Gibbs, you know I can't do that," Morrow answered plainly. "It's need to know."

"And you don't think I do," Gibbs asked tensely, a dangerous glint in his eye, "for the sake of my kid."

"Madeleine surely doesn't need to know the intricate details of black ops," Morrow retorted smartly. "Reading you in wouldn't make you suddenly able to help her if this thing goes south, Jethro. It would just jeopardize secrecy."

Gibbs leaned forward, eyeing the director harshly.

"What are the chances that it goes south?" he asked.

"Shepard has taken the utmost care to ensure it doesn't," Morrow said politically.

"Sir," Gibbs said bluntly, "I need to know how much danger she's in."

Morrow held his hand out.

"We're fighting a war, Agent Gibbs," he said moderately. "She is in the same amount of danger that she is always in over there."

Gibbs leaned back, his expression stony—he knew he wasn't being told the full truth, but even worse, he knew in his gut that there was more risk to whatever Jenny was doing than Morrow was letting on.

He desperately wished he'd been home that day she called, and Madeleine had been with the babysitter.

* * *

><p>Long after Madeleine had fallen asleep to the latest Narnia novel they were reading, Gibbs worked in the basement with the dog lazily tapping his tail on the floor. He was apprehensive after the discussion with Morrow; he felt somewhat like he had the day—that seemed so long ago now—Jenny had left him with an infant Madeleine in Israel while she went off with Ziva.<p>

This time, though, he couldn't bank on Ziva to pull her out safe if something went wrong.

He finally chucked the sander away and went upstairs, heading for bed. He snapped his fingers, indicating that the dog should follow him and sleep in the master bedroom this evening. Oz trotted happily after him and leapt unceremoniously onto the bed. Gibbs glared at the St. Bernard grumpily, as he was sleeping where Gibbs felt Jenny should be sleeping, and sat down on the edge of the bed, picking up his cell phone.

He opened it and dialed, steeling himself, and waited to hear the away message on Jenny's voicemail.

_This is Agent Shepard. Leave a message._

It was short and to the point, but it was her voice and it was almost enough.

He hesitated as the beep indicating he could speak sounded, and then hesitated a few moments longer, in silence. He lost his nerve—not, it wasn't really that; he simply decided not to be a coward. He decided that the first time he gave her what she wanted to hear, it was going to be to her face, and not on an answering machine out of divine guilt, or something stupid like that.

He cleared his throat.

"Jen," he said quietly, and instead repeated what he had said to her, four years ago, when she had said goodbye to a month old Madeleine for the sake of a mission. "Watch yourself. Come back safe."

* * *

><p>Gibbs stared at his computer, slightly glassy-eyed, trying to ignore the whispered fight Abby and McGee were having across the bullpen. It had something to do with McGee staying at Abby's for the first time, and Abby not being completely honest about what she slept in.<p>

"I just-!" squawked McGee indignantly. "I can't believe I slept in a coffin! I'm not dead!" he whined in protest.

"Not just slept," Abby retorted smugly.

"Hey," Gibbs growled, pointing down in front of his desk. "Child," he reminded them.

McGee blushed scarlet, and Abby waved her hands carelessly.

"Oh, she doesn't know what we're talking about, Gibbs," Abby said lightly. "Do you, Miss Madeleine?"

"Vampires," Madeleine guessed smartly.

"Exactly," Abby answered immediately, bending over and smiling at Madeleine. "Vampires and lions and tigers and bears."

"Oh, my!" Madeleine piped up obediently. She laughed, and held up the doll she had in her lap. "She got a new hat."

"It's beautiful," Abby complimented solemnly. She popped back up and gave Gibbs a reproving look. "You look tired, Gibbs."

He glared at Abby, and looked past her to McGee.

"You have anything on any of our cases?" he demanded.

"Um," flubbed McGee. "No."

"Then you," Gibbs growled, "shouldn't have been," he pointed at Abby, "with her last night."

Abby folded her arms sternly.

"You can't punish me for his inadequacies, Gibbs."

"Hey! I, uh—_inadequacies_?" spluttered McGee.

"Oh, not in bed—or coffin?—Timmy! At work," soothed Abby.

Gibbs lowered his aching head into his hands.

"Jesus," he muttered to himself.

They were wading through a veritable swamp of cases, and he had to put in way more hours—they all did—trying to make some leeway on them. Madeleine had spent two Saturdays in a row at NCIS, and during the week, Noemi had been taking her the majority of time when she wasn't at her other engagement. Madeleine didn't seem to mind, but her bedtime was getting screwed up, because she wanted to stay up to see him and read with him when he came home later.

He was still trying to block the image of McGee and Abby from his mind when his cell phone began to vibrate, and he welcomed the interruption. Abby had swept Madeleine up and was dancing around the bullpen while McGee suddenly typed furiously on his laptop, looking for answers for Gibbs, and Gibbs glanced at the blocked number on his phone and held his breath—hoping it was Jenny.

"Gibbs," he grunted.

"Shalom, Jethro."

It was a female voice, but it wasn't the one he wanted to hear. He stood up and snapped at Abby to get her attention, indicating that he needed to take this call privately. He walked away from his desk into a secluded area near the window, so he could keep an eye on the bullpen and talk with more privacy as well.

"Ziva," he greeted neutrally.

"I trust you are well?" she asked cordially.

"Peachy," Gibbs retorted tensely—he wasn't expecting a call from Ziva, and unexpected contact with Ziva never seemed to be particularly _good_.

"What does fruit have to do with it?" Ziva asked curiously.

"_What_?"

"Peaches," Ziva prompted.

"Peachy—its—never mind," muttered Gibbs, unsure if he was amused or frustrated with her lack of idiomatic perception. "You got bad news for me?" he asked bluntly, cutting to the chase.

"You might see it as such," she said dryly. "I will not ask how you knew I was calling for reasons that are not social."

"My gut."

"I see," Ziva said flippantly. "This is a courtesy call," she explained stiffly. "I am warning you that Ari Haswari is in the country. He is authorized to—"

"He's _what_?"

Ziva raised her voice and spoke over his interruption, continuing:

"He is authorized to be within U.S. borders and the Mossad is entirely cognizant of what his purpose is. There is no foreseeable situation in which he should find himself in contact with you."

Gibbs clenched his jaw, unable to speak. He suddenly had a brutal memory of the way he'd woken up this morning—in a cold sweat, after a nightmare in which he'd been unable to look away from Kate, dead, with a bullet in her head. Now Ziva was telling him Haswari was back. He tried to redirect his anger, or squash it a little, but he didn't seem to be able to do that—the only thing he was able to do was keep from shouting when he next spoke.

"How long has he been here?"

"Two weeks."

"Goddamnit, Ziva. What the hell's he doing here?"

"That I cannot tell you, Gibbs. You know better than to ask."

Gibbs swore at her quietly.

"You can't tell me? You can call and warn me he might grab Maddie if he's in the neighborhood, but you can't tell me what he's doing here?"

"I said nothing about Madeleine," Ziva said sharply, "and you know Ari would not harm a hair on her foot." Gibbs didn't bother to correct her this time; he was still reeling from the information. Ziva cleared her throat. "Your last encounter with him was unfortunate. You have already been assured he was working to maintain his cover and meant you or yours no harm."

"And you still can't tell me what's so important about this damn cover of his?"

"No," Ziva said forcefully, and she sounded coldly furious. "I am an officer of Mossad and Ari's control officer, Gibbs. I am very nearly committing treason with this phone call. Do not expect me to betray Israeli secrets and do _not_ intimate in the slightest that I would proceed with a course of action that would harm your child."

He fell silent, taking a moment to force himself to understand that she was doing him a favor in warning him—and it was indeed dangerous and risky for her to reveal the location of a Mossad operative to a mere NCIS agent.

"I trust you, Ziva," Gibbs said stonily. "I trust _you_. Not him. You."

"Then you must trust that his work is invaluable to my country, and yours," she said firmly. "I am afraid that is all I can say. Goodbye—"

"Ziva," he barked, and then winced, afraid Madeleine might have heard him. A quick glance told him she was absorbed in something with Abby, and he turned his back on the bullpen, holding the phone closer to his mouth. "Ziva," he said again.

"Yes?" she asked curtly.

"D'you," he began, and paused. "You have any Intel on Jenny?"

Ziva was silent for what felt like an eternity.

"Why would you ask me about Shepard?" she asked guardedly.

"You know something," he growled, sensing it from her veiled tone.

"Mossad is not privy to NCIS operations," Ziva said, diplomatic and vague. "I believe you should speak with your own superiors."

"Ziva," he said again. "She's been off the grid for weeks. I knew she would be, but she's been _too_ quiet."

Ziva took another moment of prolonged silence, and she made a frustrated noise in her throat.

"I want your word that you will not interfere with Ari in the next few hours," she said suddenly.

Gibbs was taken aback, stunned she'd revealed—seemingly—that something was going on under American agencies' noses, and offended that she'd dare ask him to turn a blind eye.

"I can't promise you that," he growled.

"That is what I ask in return for the little I can provide you with concerning Shepard."

"Your brother is a goddamn unstable operative, Ziva," snapped Gibbs. "I can't give him a blank slate."

"I understand," she said simply—and ended it there, falling silent, making it clear she was serious.

He clenched his fist.

"Ziva, this is family," he appealed.

"It is," she agreed. "_Mishpokhe_. Ari is my family. And I have already compromised him, and broken the trust of my father, by telling you his location. I simply ask in return that you _not shoot him_ if you run across him."

Gibbs grit his teeth, turning and looking at the bullpen. His eyes fell on Madeleine, and he watched her, his stomach churning. What was more important—hearing something, anything, about Jenny, or reserving the right to put a bullet between Haswari's eyes?

He took a deep breath and rubbed his jaw.

"You have my word," he said abruptly.

Ziva murmured some sort of thanks in her native language.

"Mossad interacted with an arm of her team in Azerbaijan, but lost track of her after that," Ziva said slowly. "She is supposed to be in Uzbekistan, and almost immediately there is to be a grand finale in Tunisia. I absolutely cannot give you more than that."

"Is Mossad involved?"

"No more, Agent Gibbs," Ziva snapped assertively.

He bit the inside of his cheeks harshly. He nodded to himself, as she couldn't see him.

"Thank you, Ziva," he said grudgingly.

"You remember your word, Jethro," she answered mildly and killed the connection.

Gibbs snapped his phone closed and clutched it in his hand, squeezing with a force, almost wishing he could break it. His heart thumped in his throat, and he checked his watch—Kate would be coming in soon. If he hurried, he might be able to catch her at her coffee shop.

* * *

><p>After being interrupted in a rather comical morning flirtation, Kate wove through a crowd of people waiting for their lattes and followed Gibbs to a table in her usual coffee place, giving him a mildly baleful look as he kicked out a chair for her. He'd just made some weird crack about wheat and pork bellied pigs to the agriculture tech she was talking to—who thought NCIS stood for <em>national crop insurance service<em>—and he was looking a little to smug for her liking.

But, he did have coffee.

"Rule number seven," he drawled, gesturing for her to sit down. "Always be specific when you lie."

Kate didn't really think it was necessary for her to keep that guy she'd been flirting with going with lies about the crop insurance business, but she rolled her eyes and nodded at Gibbs anyway.

"Why are you bringing me coffee from your caffeine dealer two blocks away?" she asked. "And don't say rule seven," she added primly.

"You want that or not?" he asked with an offended, innocent look on his face.

"I take my coffee with milk and sweetener," she protested.

He gave her a smug little smirk.

"Taste it," he ordered, taking a sip of his own.

She narrowed her eyes and reached for the cup—trying to ignore the self-satisfied little glint in Gibbs' eyes. Sometimes she swore if he weren't such an infuriating know-it-all bastard, she'd be in love with him.

"It's, ah, a little strong," she said, giving her verdict after she'd sipped.

"Strong's better," he asserted.

He just stared at her with his blue eyes, and she waited. And waited. And started to tap her fingers. And waited—

"Gibbs. You're making me nervous," she said tensely. "Scary scenarios are popping into my head, like you're here to fire me. Or I'm going undercover as DiNozzo's wife. Where's Madeleine? It's Monday," she rambled anxiously.

He didn't answer her about Madeleine. He leaned forward.

"I want you to profile a terrorist," he said smoothly.

"What terrorist?"

"The one you couldn't stab," Gibbs returned a bit harshly—and she was hurt by the judgment on his face; it was almost as if he was chastising her for not brutally stabbing a man to death, a man who had been—at the time—holding his four-year-old daughter.

"Did Ducky tell you that?" she asked. She glanced downwards. "It's true. He was holding Madeleine, Gibbs. I couldn't kill him when he was holding a kid—I couldn't," she paused and sighed. "I couldn't kill him," she said finally admitting it.

He bit his lip and shook his head.

"Why?" he asked—not because he wanted Madeleine to have been traumatized so horribly; in fact, he didn't know what he wanted, except that his life would be brighter with Ari Haswari out of it for good.

Kate put her hand on her cheek.

"His eyes," she said slowly, a flushed, embarrassed look flaring in her own. "I was looking into his eyes and they looked…kind."

"They look kind when he blew out Gerald's shoulder?" he demanded coolly.

"You asked me why I couldn't stab him, and I told you," she snapped. "Don't tell me you wanted me to drive a scalpel into a man and let your daughter watch him bleed out on the floor."

He leaned forward, ignoring her comments about Madeleine.

"Contrary to conventional wisdom, _Kate_, eyes can lie. You meet him again, don't forget that," Gibbs ordered sternly.

He needed to know that someone on this team was capable of doing what needed to be done if it came down to it.

"I won't," Kate said. "I won't!" she insisted, when Gibbs refused to back down.

"Profile him," he ordered dangerously.

He was itching to hear an analysis of the man who had plagued him since Madeleine was born.

"He's _not_ an Islamic fanatic," Kate said mechanically. "Never used their rhetoric; no mention of jihad, Allah, infidels—whatever drives him, it isn't martyrdom."

"Revenge?" asked Gibbs.

"Could be," Kate conceded. "Maybe money."

"A Hamas terrorist? In it for the money?" he scoffed—and he wondered if Ziva's ears were burning across the oceans, at sensing her brother being accused of being a terrorist.

A Hamas terrorist had been his damn cover when he'd taken Madeleine hostage, and that was how Gibbs was going to refer to him to the team.

"Well he's certainly not in it for the seventy virgins," Kate snapped. "He'd have no trouble attracting women," she explained, and then noting the look on Gibbs' face, narrowed her eyes. "Don't go there," she said dangerously.

"Why money?" Gibbs asked.

"I just get the feeling that he lives large. He was well groomed, manicured nails, perfect teeth, salon styled hair," Kate paused, anxious and uncomfortable with the conversation. "Gibbs—what _is_ it with your hair?" she blurted suddenly, her eyes on his crew cut.

"What's wrong with my hair?" he retorted, outraged.

"Nothing," Kate placated with a little grin. "Nothing your hair is—you."

"Yeah," Gibbs snorted. "Yeah, thank you. What else?" he pushed, still a little rankled that she'd insulted his hair.

"He's intelligent. Bold. Willing to take big risks."

Gibbs remembered the shot he'd taken from Haswari's gun.

"Why did he give me a chance to kill him?" he asked hoarsely.

"He had a flak vest," Kate explained. "Knew you'd double tap him in the chest."

"What if I'd shot him in the head?" cracked Gibbs mirthlessly.

"It's a risk he had to take to make his escape plan work," Kate said simply.

"No. He did not," Gibbs growled. He hesitated. "He could have killed me in cold blood," he admitted, accepting it, and realizing that Haswari really had taken it easy. "HRT comes in, throws a flash bang. Either way, he escapes, it's the same."

"You're right," Kate admitted honestly. "Why'd he give you a shot at him?"

Gibbs rubbed is finger along his nose.

"He needs to face death to feel alive," he decided. "Maybe to feel anything."

* * *

><p>Lunch with Ducky and DiNozzo—yes, even with <em>DiNozzo<em>—seemed a perfect way for Kate to get out of the bullpen for a while. Gibbs was in a foul mood, and none of them could quiet figure out what had started it. Abby said he'd gotten a phone call this morning before he'd stormed out to get coffee, and that's when Kate had told them about his confronting her at the coffee shop.

Shortly after, Gibbs had demanded McGee pull up the photograph of Ari Haswari and run it through airport security cameras for the past two weeks—and he had refused to answer any questions about it. It had gotten to the point where he had even snapped at Madeleine when she told him she was hungry, so Kate had brought her along to lunch, too.

"Gibbs was like this right before his last divorce," Ducky said cordially.

"We can't divorce him, Ducky," Kate said with a smile.

"He's not married," Madeleine said solemnly, taking food off of DiNozzo's plate.

"Hey," Tony whined, pushing her away gently.

She giggled at him.

Ducky, meanwhile, laughed.

"You wouldn't want to divorce him, my dear. No matter how gruff he becomes."

"Maybe he'll take his frustrations out on his mysterious redhead instead of us," DiNozzo snorted through a mouthful of sandwich.

"Must you talk with your mouth full?" Kate asked distastefully. "And how do you know he has a mysterious redhead? We've never seen Gibbs with anyone."

DiNozzo made a protracted show of chewing and swallowing with his mouth closed, and then turned pointedly to Madeleine.

"What colour is your mommy's hair?" he asked sweetly.

"Red," Madeleine answered seriously.

"It's Gibbs. They're _all_ redheads," Tony said, glaring at Kate triumphantly.

"So who was Gibbs chasing when he was last married?" Kate asked.

Madeleine was absorbed in dipping DiNozzo's French fries in her ranch, and seemed completely unconcerned with the adults' conversation about her father. She was, in fact, still sulking because Daddy had yelled at her.

"Had to be a redhead," snorted DiNozzo, and Ducky laughed, well aware that DiNozzo had been marginally close to the mark.

"He was after a child murderer," Ducky said, remembering the horrible ordeal, which had been Shepard's only case before Europe and the end of Gibbs' marriage to Diane. Ducky looked as if he would say more, but decided the details were too violent for Madeleine's ears.

"Did Gibbs catch him?" Kate asked.

"Oh, yes," Ducky sighed. "But not before he had killed again. And you know, I think—well, we understand now, naturally—that Gibbs has a particular sensitivity to hurt children," Ducky shook his head unhappily. "Gibbs was very difficult to live with, after that," he remarked.

DiNozzo, in the middle of fighting Madeleine for this last French fry, suddenly perked up.

"It's her!" he announced.

"Who?" Ducky asked.

"The love of my life," DiNozzo drawled. The next thing they knew, he had dumped his remaining fries onto Madeleine's plate—unexpectedly—kissed her in the forehead, and was darting off through traffic to chase some blonde woman running up the street.

"Oh," Ducky chuckled.

Kate shook her head, a narrow look on her face.

"He was telling me he chased her around the park this morning. She's Swedish," she scoffed. She leaned over to Madeleine. "When is Pony going to grow up?" she asked.

"It's in the genes, you know," Ducky remarked. "In Italy, most boys Tony's age are still living with _mama_."

"Mama hasn't talked to me in forever," Madeleine said solemnly, munching on a French fry. Kate gave her a sympathetic look, and Ducky frowned a bit, concerned.

"Is she all right, dear?" he asked kindly.

Madeleine shrugged. She didn't answer, and she didn't seem perturbed.

Kate dropped her fork suddenly.

"Ah, I've got to head out. Gitmo conference in twenty minutes," she reached for her purse and frowned. "It was Tony's turn to treat!"

"I'll take care of it," Ducky said blithely, gesturing across the table at Madeleine. "Madeleine Jane and I will enjoy a leisurely dessert, perhaps."

"No, no, Ducky, I've got it—"

"Go, Kate, really," he urged.

Madeleine popped her eyebrows up.

"Can I have ice cream?" she asked.

"I believe I can arrange that," Ducky said.

Kate stood up and kissed Ducky's cheek, thanking him for lunch and waving goodbye to Madeleine. Madeleine watched her leave, and then held up a French fry covered in ranch with a serious look in her eyes.

"Ducky, you want a fry?"

Ducky accepted whole-heartedly.

* * *

><p>"DUCKY," Gibbs bellowed, storming into autopsy.<p>

Ducky sighed heavily, not quite startled, but bothered by the shouting nonetheless. He was at least pleased to note that the gore laid out on the tables seemed to slow Gibbs' temper.

"Look what Agent Balboa brought me," Ducky said, gesturing around.

"Just when I think nothing will surprise me," Gibbs growled, grimly intrigued by the jigsaw puzzle of decayed human remains all around him. "Madeleine better not be in here."

"Good god, man, of course not," Ducky said, affronted. "I left her with Abby after lunch. The child fell asleep in the car."

"Duck," Gibbs pushed tensely. "Did Tony and Kate come back from lunch with you?"

"No," Ducky chuckled. "Tony went off on one of his usual pursuits, and Kate had to video conference with Gitmo."

Gibbs stood still for a moment—staring. Kate wasn't back yet, so she had missed that conference, and while that was something DiNozzo might pull, it wasn't in Kate's nature to _miss_ things like that.

Alarm bells went off all through his head.

Ziva had specifically asked him not to interfere with Haswari _today_.

What the _hell_ was going on?

"Ducky," he said again, whirling around at the door. "You said Madeleine was here? She's not with Kate? She's _here_?"

"Yes," Ducky said, looking surprised. "Asleep, with Abby, when I left the lab."

Gibbs said a prayer of thanks under his breath and went swiftly for the elevator—he was going to get Maddie from Abby's lab and find some way to irrevocably ensure her safety until that son of a bitch was out of the country.

* * *

><p>Gibbs stood on the catwalk, staring at Kate's empty desk, with his phone ringing in his ear and Madeleine sleepily looking around from her perch on his hip. She was grumpy at having been woken up and wasn't speaking to him, but he had more worries than her mood right now.<p>

Kate's phone rang on and on, and finally went directly to voicemail. He snapped the cell phone shut, and shoved it in his pocket, turning to look at his daughter. She blinked at him unhappily and yawned, rubbing her eyes.

"I want to go back to Abby, Daddy," she said sternly.

"Mr. Tobias is coming to pick you up," he answered instead, giving her a good, hard look in the eye. He pushed her hair off her forehead and hugged her a little closer.

"I want to stay with you," she whined.

"You get to see the FBI, honey," Gibbs muttered, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Tobias is going to keep you safe there."

Madeleine laid her head on his shoulder.

"I don't understand," she whimpered.

Gibbs moved his head stiffly—he didn't understand, either.

* * *

><p>It went without saying that if Kate had known the blue Mini Cooper behind Ari Haswari's motorcycle was full of his cronies; she would never have hopped into it. As it were, she had foolishly placed herself in a position of complete vulnerability.<p>

She had no idea where she had been brought, save for the fact that it was secluded and seemed peaceful—aside from all the weaponry and terrorists in the barn. Her head was still throbbing from the strikes she'd sustained in the car, and as Haswari gave her a charming, cool look and tried to place ice against her lip, she snatched it from his hand.

"You told me I could call Gibbs," she reminded him aggressively.

"On one condition," Haswari said smoothly.

"Surprise, surprise. And what am I to say?" Kate asked sarcastically.

"You became quite ill after lunch," Haswari recited coolly. "You went to emergency, where it was diagnosed as food poisoning. They pumped out your stomach, gave you an IV, and sent you home. You'll be fine tomorrow; you just need some sleep."

"And if I don't say that?"

"Marta," Haswari said, turning. Kate followed his gaze, and found herself looking at the blonde woman Tony had chased after lunch. "Tell Caitlin how you will entertain Agent DiNozzo tonight."

"I will put a bullet through his head," the Swedish woman said, "as I run my fingers through his hair."

Kate swallowed. She turned to Haswari.

"Gibbs won't buy it," she said, harsh and confident.

"I do not need him to buy it," Haswari said mildly. "I simply need you to say it. I have my sister's assurance that Gibbs will not interfere with me this time."

Kate made a sour face. He confused her with his comment—as if Gibbs was in contact with anyone who was related to this son of a bitch. She tossed her brunette hair and reached for the phone.

"I didn't know I was working with the wonder twins," she quipped dryly, flipping her phone open and pressing Gibbs' speed dial number.

Haswari laughed hollowly.

"My sister is thirteen years my junior."

Kate didn't answer, but as she recited her lines to Gibbs, she made sure to change what she'd eaten at lunch—on the off chance Gibbs mentioned it, and DiNozzo could save the day by realizing she was being forced to lie.

* * *

><p>Gibbs came back from handing Madeline off to Fornell with coffee and a hotter temper than before. When he saw the huddle of people milling around in the bullpen, he just about lost it.<p>

"If this isn't work related—" he began to shout.

"Boss!" McGee interrupted. "I have Haswari entering the country on a commercial flight two weeks ago. He flew in through Baltimore, that's why it took me so long to find a trace—anyway, he was alone, but the flight registry says he's flying from Uzbekistan—"

"Not Israel?" barked Gibbs, his blood boiling.

"Israel? Uh, no, no—definitely Uzbekistan, smaller city—I had to look it up—but it's there. What do you think he's doing here?"

Gibbs glanced over at the televisions, where news was still running about President Bush's Camp David meeting with the Israeli Prime Minister, Sharon. He narrowed his eyes, wracking his brains to figure out what the hell the Israelis could want him doing here—this meeting was good, it was for peace, so unless Ziva and Mossad knew of something that was going to go wrong and Haswari had been sent to fix it—

"His name is intriguing," Ducky piped up. "You know, I am not sure I noticed before, but Ari is distinctly Hebrew, and Haswari is Arab in origin. Curious."

Gibbs glared at the screen a moment longer.

"I talked to someone who knew him at school," DiNozzo said. "This guy worked with Ari in research for infectious diseases. That's why he was handling the cleanup when he broke into autopsy—he knows the diseases. The contact said he was slick with the ladies, loved the finer life, and always answered to _Haswari_, never Ari."

"His parents were never married," McGee said. He rattled off the name of Haswari's father, but Gibbs knew it was a false name—he knew Eli David was the father of this rat. Abby made a snide remark about Haswari disliking his Jewish Daddy, and Gibbs snapped—

"We call him Ari," he decided.

If Haswari hated it so much—that's what he was going to hear.

"His mother was killed in an Israeli retaliatory strike in the Gaza strip," McGee announced.

Gibbs still stared hard at the screen, trying to see the game. Ziva had to be mistaken—nothing about this seemed right; Ari had to be in the country to blow this meeting between Bush and Sharon. It wasn't the first time Gibbs had thought Ari was rogue, but it was the first time he had seriously considered contacting Eli David and informing him his prized Arab bastard was a traitor to Mossad.

Because that's what it looked like this _was_.

Gibbs stood up and pointed at McGee.

"Run a trace on Kate's cell phone," he growled. "DiNozzo, with me—McGee, locate her, or so help me God, I'll have your head on a platter."

"Kate's home sick, Boss," DiNozzo said, exasperated.

"I don't think she had bad oysters for lunch," Gibbs growled.

"She had a tuna salad," DiNozzo answered, confused.

Gibbs turned on him, his expression dark, and for a moment his only thought was relief that Kate hadn't had Madeleine when she'd been abducted from lunch.

"Tony," he hissed, "that bastard's got her!"

* * *

><p>The time Kate spent watching Ari Haswari move three acorn shells hiding a single pea around in front of her felt like an eternity. Each time he stopped, she effortlessly told him where the pea was hiding—and each time, he was impressed.<p>

"Remarkable. How did they teach you to pay such attention to detail?" he asked.

"Who?" she growled shortly.

"The Secret Service," he drawled.

She looked stunned, as realization dawned on her.

"The president is flying to Camp David with Sharon today," she said, her heart sinking. "I saw the weapons in the barn—you want to know which helicopter is Marine One. To shoot it down!"

"Pay no mind to those tiny missiles. They are mere training aids," he said flippantly. "In any case, I have no intention of shooting down Marine One."

"You're a lying bastard," Kate lashed out violently. "You shot Gerald. You shot Gibbs!"

Haswari gave an unconcerned smile.

"Regrettably, only one fourth of that is false."

Kate looked at him stonily and lunged forward.

"There is no way to tell the aircrafts apart," she snapped. "And if there was, I wouldn't tell you."

"Even if it meant your life?" snapped Marta the Swede, and suddenly, Kate found herself on the barrel end of her own pistol.

"I was trained to lay down my life for the president of this country," Kate growled fiercely. "Working for NCIS instead of the Secret Service didn't change that. Are _you_ willing to die for what you believe?"

"We Hamas prove that every day!" barked Marta.

"No!" Kate retorted defiantly. "Your _children_ do!"

Marta cocked the gun, but Ari stayed her eager trigger finger.

"We're wasting time!" roared Marta, as Ari forced her to hand the gun to him.

"If killing is to be done, I will do it," placated Ari—in an almost sensual voice. "I believe you, Caitlin," he said sweetly. "Have a drink of wine, please," he offered, gesturing to the spread before them. "I do not like to drink alone."

"HASWARI—" burst out Marta.

"Quiet, Marta. Caitlin is telling the truth. There is no way to tell Marine One apart from the decoy helicopters."

"You told me there was," Marta said passionately.

"I lied," Haswari said simply—and as Marta lunged forward towards him, he raised Kate's weapon expertly and shot her directly in the head.

Kate jumped, shock coursing through her, as Marta's dead body dropped from the picnic table they were seated at. Her heart and pulse pounded in her ears, and she resisted the urge to scream or bust into tears—fearing she was next.

"Women should never get involved in politics," Ari said distastefully. "It's a waste of beauty."

He held out Kate's phone to her cordially.

"Call your old friends at the Secret Service. I will tell them all they need to know."

She was staring at him in shock, in confusion—her arms felt too heavy to move.

"Take it," Ari said. "My Hamas are well trained. They will kill or capture your president—and mine."

"Your president," Kate repeated, using all her strength to keep from shaking as she took the phone.

His president—Sharon—then he was-?

"I am Israeli," Haswari said coolly, and his lips turned up at the corner, as if he had just pulled some wonderful farce. "Israeli Mossad."

* * *

><p>Gibbs was violently working on the boat when Fornell came trotting down the stairs. Without a word, Gibbs met him at the foot of them and took Madeleine. She was fast asleep, and he held her comfortably against his chest—even though she <em>really was<em> getting too big for this. He gave Tobias a curt, silent nod of thanks, and jerked his head at the TV.

"Drug dealers," he spat quietly, scoffing at the way the news was reporting the FBI shootout that had gone down between the authorities and the terrorists who'd attempted to destroy Sharon and Bush's meeting. "That's what the government decided to go with?"

"Secret Service," Fornell said, pointing at Madeleine's head. "You got me in trouble, you know. Diane threw a fit because, I've never had Emily at work."

Gibbs snorted.

"Appreciate you takin' her," he said again.

"Anytime, Gibbs. I know you'd do the same to keep Em safe," Fornell said flippantly.

"The Service give Ari his get-out-of-jail-free card?" Gibbs ventured tensely.

"No, CIA," Fornell answered. "Directors all agreed—even yours. Ari's father was Mossad. Knocked his mother up to get a mole with Arab blood, vetted the kid for Gaza…Haswari's been a sleeper his entire life."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes—and that was the kicker; the golden key to everything Ziva had never told him. Ari Haswari was the shining star of Mossad because he was deepest in with the worst of the bad guys, and he had free license to do whatever he wanted and risk whoever he wanted to fight the Holy War.

"I'd love to put him in a coma," Gibbs said dryly.

"Al-Qaeda funded this Hamas op," Fornell explained. "Ari was doing what he had to do, on orders from Mossad, to make bones with 'em."

"You tell that to Gerald," Gibbs said, leaning closer to Fornell. He patted Madeleine's head protectively. "He shot me, Tobias. In front of my kid. There's a line—and that bastard crossed it. You don't make your bones shootin' friends!"

"What do you want us to do, he's inside Al-Qaeda!" shouted Tobias.

"I don't know!" Gibbs roared back.

Madeleine sat up abruptly, blinking at him. She covered her ears.

"Why are you so mad today?" she asked hazily, glaring at him through sleepy eyes. "I wanna go back to the Hoover building."

"Great," growled Gibbs, rolling his eyes.

Fornell smirked, and they each took a moment to cool down.

"The agencies want your word that you won't go after Ari. They think you'll blow his cover," Fornell said.

Gibbs leaned back against a counter, tilting his head. He looked at Madeleine, thinking of the promise he'd made to Ziva—that he wouldn't interfere. He'd already almost broken that promise today, by starting to go get Kate—but how was he to have known Ari was a mole? All evidence had pointed to him being the orchestrator, and Gibbs wasn't going to sacrifice Kate to a stupid promise he'd made out of worry for Jenny. It wasn't fair to Kate—and on that note, he knew, somehow, that if it came down to it and Ari was a bad seed, Ziva would find the strength to tend to it properly.

"Why are you asking me this and not my Director?" Gibbs demanded.

Fornell smirked.

"He refused to."

Gibbs snorted. He wasn't surprised. Morrow had been there when Ari had held Madeleine in autopsy—when Gerald had been shot, and Kate and Ducky had been abused. He was hurtin' for justice, too.

"One condition," Gibbs said suddenly, his eyes narrow.

Madeleine yawned again, twisting in his arms and waving at Tobias mildly.

"There's always one condition," Fornell sighed.

"I want to speak to him," Gibbs demanded. "In a place of my choosing. Alone."

"Nobody's gonna go for that," Fornell said in disbelief.

Gibbs pushed Madeleine's hair back and looked at her, smiling a little. He raised his eyebrow at Tobias.

"Ari will."

* * *

><p>For reasons that were painstakingly obvious, he chose to meet with Ari Haswari in autopsy.<p>

The bastard was sitting smugly by the wall when he walked in, and Gibbs took his time to examine the body of the Swedish woman who had been heading the Hamas/Al-Qaeda operation.

"She was beautiful," Gibbs remarked uncaringly. He looked up. "You sleep with her?"

Ari gave one of his catlike smirks.

"And then blew her brains out," Gibbs drawled.

"She would have done the same to me," Ari said cordially.

"Why do you do it?" Gibbs asked—and Ari knew what he was referring to; Ari knew Gibbs had seen him miserable in Mossad and couldn't understand why the hell he was working like a dog on a leash for Eli David, when it seemed he abhorred all things _family_.

"The same reason you do," Ari answered.

"I don't think so."

"Then you're lying to yourself.

Ari got up and began to pace.

"Ziva ensured you would not interfere, and you did not. I am surprised."

"It wasn't for lack of trying," Gibbs growled.

"Yes, I shall have to tell her you cannot be trusted. Those who are experts in interrogation are also experts in getting what they want, and only what they want," Ari drawled.

"What now?" Gibbs asked, ignoring him. "You go back to the Middle East? You tell them Marta was Mossad and she blew the op?"

"Yes."

"Two operational failures in a row," Gibbs remarked, of Ari's track record as a mole. "I'd axe your ass if you worked for me."

"People who blow themselves apart to catch their enemies have low expectations," Ari commented blithely.

"How do you sell Marta as a double agent?" demanded Gibbs coldly.

"When they search Marta's apartment, they will find money and documents traceable to Mossad," he said. "Courtesy of Ziva—ah, and in fact, our knowledge of this intended terrorist attack on your country comes from no other than," Ari paused gallantly, "Jennifer Shepard."

Gibbs tensed. He believed that Jenny had some hand in rooting out this Intel, but under no circumstances did he think she'd authorize a situation that put Ari anywhere near their daughter again.

"Hamas will believe me. Al-Qaeda is more wary."

"They don't believe you, you're dead," Gibbs said bluntly.

"Yes," acquiesced Ari. There was an awful glint in his eye. "Yet I have made an invaluable trade that will convince them otherwise. And if they do believe me, then I may learn what they plan as the next nine-eleven. Would you risk losing that opportunity—over pride?"

Gibbs' eyes narrowed.

"It's not pride," he growled softly.

"If not pride, then what? Love of country? Sense of duty? I'm sure those exist in you. But what burns is pride, my friend."

Ari smirked triumphantly and inclined his head.

"Shalom."

He moved to leave, and Gibbs blocked his way.

He shook his head minutely, taking Ari by the lapel and holding him tightly.

"It's not pride," he repeated. "It's fury," he told him, a very controlled rage evident in his voice. He shoved Ari back and raised his hand, getting in his face. "It's this sign," he said, making the sign language motion that Madeleine used to recognize as safety, "that you gave my daughter and then _betrayed_ her. It's not pride, Ari," Gibbs barked.

He raised his Sig and jammed it into Ari's shoulder, ball-and-socket joint, just like he had Gerald.

"It's what you took away from my daughter."

He fired the weapon, a point-bank, painful, angry bullet straight through Ari's right shoulder.

He said:

"My way of helping you _convince_ Al-Qaeda."

* * *

><p>In a dark, dank concrete room with sordid air and no hope, she couldn't comprehend if she was hot or cold. She was shaking, trembling all over, and her skin was crawling, but she was sweating and short of breath—and thirsty, so thirsty her lips were cracked and bleeding, and her mouth was dry and her throat on fire.<p>

There was dust on her tongue and in her nose, in her eyes and hair, and whether she kept her eyes opened or closed—there was only _darkness_. There was something near her neck, rustling her hair—a rat maybe—but she couldn't move to swat it away; it would hurt too much.

The door of the cell swung open abruptly and a figure swept in—quickly, too quickly, because usually her captors prowled and stalked, laughed and smoked, while they let her wonder when they'd attack. This time, it was fast, and when someone crouched beside her hand leaned over, something cold and light hit her forehead.

She jerked away, thinking for a moment it was teeth again—there was one who liked to bite, but to her surprise friendly hands pulled her back and a flashlight lit up her face. She blinked in the wretched, bright light, coughing, and tried to adjust.

Swinging before her eyes was a petite, fragile, golden Star of David.

"Ziva!" she cried, but it came out as a desperate, hoarse whisper—and given that she'd spent so much time refusing to speak, it was a miracle she could do it at all.

Ziva hushed her, murmuring in rapid Arabic. She made quick work of the bindings and exhibited surprising strength in hoisting her up. She pushed her against the wall and held her, dark eyes boring into green, and she shoved a bottle of water into her counterpart's hands.

"Drink quickly," she ordered. "We have not much time. Can you walk?" Ziva shook her slightly. "Jenny, can you walk?"

Jenny didn't know the answer, but she nodded anyway.

"I can run," she rasped defiantly.

A wicked smile flitted across Ziva's lips.

"Where am I?" Jenny asked.

"Cairo—the slums. I am going to get you out."

"Cairo," gasped Jenny, stumbling as Ziva pulled her, and slung her arm over her shoulder. "Cairo," she moaned again. "I was in—Tunisia-?"

"When you were compromised, they brought you back here, to buck your agency and Mossad off your scent," Ziva hissed, fumbling in her pocket while trying to support Jenny.

"Everything went off without a hitch," Jenny mumbled. "I lost—I lost-Fitzgerald, but we," she faltered, crying out as they stumbled and Ziva slammed them into a wall to hide for a moment. "What happened?" Jenny demanded weakly. "Where was Mossad in Tunisia?"

Ziva was shaking her head. She was shoving a gun into Jenny's palm.

"We may need to fight," she said curtly. "I am in the dark as you are for now, Jenny," she said earnestly. "When NCIS went south in Tunisia, it was a catastrophe, but it's chaos—your Mission was fulfilled, and revenged by Al-Qaeda concurrently—"

"It happened so fast," Jenny hissed.

"You were taken by Al-Qaeda cleaners—they wanted information—"

"I _know_ what they wanted!" Jenny cried hoarsely—angrily. "They hurt me _badly_, Ziva!"

Ziva put her hand on Jenny's neck and pulled her forehead close, her eyes harsh and strong.

"I know," she said fiercely. "I know what they did," she growled. "I am going to get you out. I am sending you home. But I have no back-up team, no extractors. It is just us, Jenny, it is just me. You have to help me fight."

A sob wracked Jenny's chest, and she grasped the necklace at Ziva's throat. She drew deep breaths, trying to calm herself, and tightened her grip on the weapon Ziva had given her. If she could shoot just one of these bastards who had kept her captive—she might find a little more strength to fight.

"You came after me," Jenny said, her eyes searching Ziva's. "You came alone."

Ziva said nothing. She reached for Jenny's hand, squeezed it, and gave her a determined look. She couldn't bring herself to explain why she had broken so many rules and disobeyed final orders to come here, on her own, and get Jenny out when no else would. Instead, she lowered her voice, and began giving instructions in Arabic—because there was a flight in a small airport out of Libya with a seat for Jenny Shepard, and Ziva planned to have her on it.

* * *

><p>Tensions ran impossibly high in the days after the tense incident between Gibbs and Haswari in autopsy. His appearance had completely disrupted the already chaotic case month the team was having, and it was difficult to get back on track immediately after.<p>

When things had finally calmed down, and they were back in the swing of things, Gibbs still couldn't shake the impossible gut feeling that something was horribly wrong—and he kept eerily flashing back to Madeleine telling him her broken necklace had been bad luck. Had that silly superstitious comment somehow foreshadowed Haswari showing back up? Or was it something else?

It was on another of those sweltering hot days when the AC at the Navy Yard was on the fritz that Gibbs remembered the glaring problem he'd forgotten to address. He had just closed a case, and was storming out of interrogation, when he realized it was well beyond the three weeks during which Jenny was supposed to be unreachable—in fact, he hadn't heard a single thing from her or about her, save for what Ziva had told him two weeks ago, in nearly two months.

He went directly to Morrow's office, files in his hands, and barged in without knocking.

"Agent Gibbs," Morrow said, startled.

He looked up from his computer.

"Did we have a meeting?"

"We're having one now," Gibbs retorted, and shut the door forcefully. He threw the closed case files onto Morrow's conference table and strode forward, looking his boss dead in the eye. "You told me Shepard was going to be off radar for three or four weeks," he said coolly.

"Yes," Morrow agreed warily.

"_Eight weeks ago_."

Morrow looked at Gibbs guardedly, and then sighed heavily.

"Sit down, Agent Gibbs."

"Sir," began Gibbs roughly.

"Sit _down_," ordered Morrow, interrupting. He waited for Gibbs to pull up a chair and sit stiffly on the edge of it, his harsh blue eyes fixed unyieldingly on Morrow's.

The Director of NCIS leaned backwards and rubbed his jaw nervously for a silent moment that was much too long for Gibbs to bear. He was starting to feel like he was in a desert in the Middle East again, staring up at his commanding officer as he was told that Shannon and Kelly—

"Shepard did not report back when she was expected to," Morrow said slowly, and held up his hand to silence the shout he saw bubbling in Gibbs' eyes. "Her work did not have a specific timeline, so I did not initially find cause for concern."

"_Initially_?" quoted Gibbs, spitting the word at Morrow.

"At her last communiqué, all was well, but clearly we've become worried as the time has gone on—"

"Just worried?" interrupted Gibbs. "_Worried_? Where the hell is she?" he demanded.

"Gibbs," Morrow said, leaning forward sternly. "I have nothing to tell you. If I did, I would not hold it back, but at this moment, her counterparts in Europe are reporting her Missing in Action."

Gibbs swallowed.

"There are two designations for MIA persons, Director," he said stiffly. "Which one is she?"

"Nothing is certain," Morrow said diplomatically. "I am in lines of communication with Mossad and other agencies to locate Shepard. It was my choice not to unnecessarily worry you—"

"Sir," Gibbs cut him off. "Missing in action _what_?"

Morrow stopped, and looked at him, and Gibbs was aware very suddenly that he wasn't about to say _presumed alive_.

"Presumed dead," Morrow said hollowly.

Gibbs felt the cold, familiar feeling of his emotional capacities shutting down, and he let it happen, until his face was a guarded mask and his muscles were stiff. Unblinking, he stared at his boss across his cluttered desk.

"She's alive until proven dead, Gibbs," Morrow reminded him.

Gibbs rubbed his jaw and stood up violently.

"When the hell were you gonna tell me?"

"When I had definitive information to give," Morrow said calmly—he stood as well, level with Gibbs. "The situation between you and Shepard is unique, and I cannot have stress for the other debilitating one of you in your jobs. As I said before, I was not about to cause undue worry for you."

Gibbs scoffed and marched away. He slammed his fist into the office door and then spun around, raising his voice.

"And you don't think _presumed dead_ is undue worry?" he bellowed.

"Gibbs—"

"What do I tell my daughter, Director?" he demanded, still shouting.

"Tell her nothing," Morrow pleaded. "Nothing, until we have concrete intelligence!"

Gibbs grit his teeth, resisting the overwhelming urge to physically harm Morrow, and then he wrenched open the office door and was gone, slamming it as violently behind him as he exited.

* * *

><p>For the first time in a long time, Gibbs retreated to his basement to have a drink. Madeleine was asleep, blissfully, innocently asleep, and unaware of the state her father was in, and he thought if he didn't get some bourbon in his system, he might lose his head completely. It was ironic, that he thought alcohol would help him keep his senses, but the burn of the whiskey was familiar—and it did help some.<p>

He had left work immediately after the conversation with Morrow, to the chagrin of the others, and he had picked Madeleine up early from preschool with no plan as to what they were going to do.

It had been painstakingly easy to pretend everything was normal while she was chattering away and suggesting games to play and occupying his attention with her vivacity, but after a chapter of _The Voyage of the Dawn Treader_, brushed teeth, and lights out, he was left alone with silence and the words _presumed dead_ ringing in his ears.

Working on the boat had done no good; he'd just slammed a hammer on his fingers one too many times for it to be therapeutic.

He knew there was no chance he'd be able to sleep. He felt as if he was too stiff to really move, much less relax enough to sleep. He was tense, waiting for a phone to ring, a knock at the door, to tell him it was confirmed, Jen was dead; he'd never see her again.

He felt, for the first time in his life, like he really, _completely_ understood what it had been like for Shannon.

He swallowed the rest of his jar of bourbon, burning mouthfuls of it, and he slid the jar away and left the basement. He couldn't keep drinking, he had Madeleine to think of, and if he was going to stop, he needed to leave the basement. It was too quiet, and the bourbon was too tempting.

He contemplated tossing and turning in his own bed, but he turned at the last minute and slipped into Madeleine's room. He generally looked in on her right before he went to bed, but tonight was different; tonight he sat down and leaned over her. He rested his hand on her back and watched her sleep, feeling the unconcerned, gentle rise and fall of her breathing.

He placed a kiss, the lightest kiss, to her forehead, and moved to the floor, and there he sat, staring at her, his legs drawn up to his chest. Oz moseyed in, awakened by the noise Gibbs had made in the basement, and he quietly wagged his tail and plopped down, his head lolling against Gibbs' knees.

Still focused solely on his daughter, Gibbs scratched the dog's ears. As his eyes adjusted and he was able to focus on Madeleine's little face, so much like Kelly's and Jenny's molded into one, he slowly accepted the fact that everything he was feeling was rooted in a raw, unmitigated fear.

It was the fear that he would have to tell Madeleine her mother was never coming home. It didn't matter how many times Morrow said it wasn't confirmed; Gibbs heard it as truth, because it gave him a reason for the churning that had remained in his gut after Ari had left the country.

He watched Madeleine sleep peacefully, and he was overcome with the fear that he really was going to have to sit her down, look into her wide green eyes, and try to explain to her that they were never going to see Jenny—and he absolutely balked at the thought; he couldn't do it—couldn't imagine it, couldn't _stand_ it.

There were plenty of things Gibbs knew he was capable of handling, of dealing with, and pushing through; he had already had to stomach things he had always thought would never happen to him—but this, _this_, he thought would undo him.

He _knew_ he wouldn't be able to hold it together if he had to have _that_ talk with Madeleine, and what was worse, he wasn't too sure he could hold it together in the meantime, while he was waiting for answers and forced to pretend everything was okay.

* * *

><p>It was a rare day in the Mossad Complex when Ziva David's collected, stoic composition went to hell, but it was an occasion many who hadn't experienced anticipated with a mixture of apprehension, awe, and wonder.<p>

And she didn't disappoint.

It started with raging through the halls when she arrived back from wherever she had run off to. She looked half-dead, but even with her copious injuries she was formidable, and she gave any young officer who got in her way a rabid tongue-lashing. Someone darted off to tell the Director she was back from where she had been forbidden to go, and her murderous rampage ended in his office, where she found her brother and lit into him behind a closed door.

After a burst of poisonous name-calling the likes of which Ari had never really heard from his sister, she flew at him, got in his face, and started making demands.

"Calm yourself, Ziva," Ari said smoothly, taking her arms.

"I will not!" she fired back, wrenching away from him. "You fed the Director the information that prompted him to nix our support mission in Tunisia!" she accused violently. "You informed on her, you blew her cover to _Al-Qaeda_ you—" more expletives describing him.

"It was necessary to convince them of my status," Ari returned coolly.

"You have crossed a line, Ari," bellowed Ziva. "The entire NCIS team was lost in the middle east! One of hers was killed in the fall out, another caught and killed as he tried to escape through the border."

"It matters not. Shepard was successful in exterminating the three cells she was meant to."

"She was almost killed!" Ziva roared, grabbing Ari at the lapels and yanking him forward. "Do you know how I found her, Ari?" she demanded harshly.

"You were not to go after her!" he barked back. "You endangered yourself and my position when you used my intelligence to retrieve her!"

"And _you_ jeopardized the entirety of cooperation between our nations!" retorted Ziva, throwing him back from her. "I am beginning to see the recklessness in your nature, brother, and I do not foresee it turning out well for you! Israel has enough adversity to face without one of our best brutally betraying our friends for the sake of a cover!"

"I knew they would torture her," Ari said calmly. "I suspected Shepard would be able to resist and hold her tongue—I assumed NCIS or her CIA would pull her out. I was mistaken."

"And she could have been killed!" shouted Ziva.

"Not immediately," Ari responded callously. "They would have gone public with her, for leverage."

Ziva burst into furious swearing again and pushed Ari away from her.

"You knew NCIS had tied hands! You knew they could not get her!"

"Luck you were so insubordinate, then, sister," Ari drawled. "Your indignant stance does not become you, as you've made similar grey choices in the field."

"I have never deserted an ally," said Ziva fiercely. "She was almost killed! She was relying on us for back up! You are becoming remarkably similar to the traitor Agent Gibbs accuses you of being—"

Ari flew forward and struck her across the cheek. Ziva gasped and reeled back, stunned for a moment that he had gone so far as to strike her. The reference to Agent Gibbs, the man whose bullet was still wedged in his shoulder, had enraged Ari.

Ziva breathed heavily, her eyes dark.

"She has a _child_, Ari—but you are very reckless with that child, I remember!"

"It matters not that you gave that little brat our sister's star, she is not family," sneered Ari. "What do you care for a gentile's bastard?"

"The same I care for an Arab's bastard!" Ziva said desperately, her eyes wide, trying to make Ari understand. "For _you_, Ari!"

She had never been like their father—it had never been her goal to alienate him, to indoctrinate him, or to train him. He was her brother and she had only ever wanted to _love_ him. But Ari was impossible and unpredictable, and she felt she was losing her connection with the last childhood happiness she had left.

Before their fight could continue, Eli David flung his door open and strolled out, a thunderous look on his face. He took in the scene: Ari's rage, Ziva holding her cheek, her disheveled appearance.

"Ari," he said coldly. "Surely I have asked you to refrain from striking your sister." His tone was sardonic, patronizing—as if repeating an obvious command to a child.

"No," Ari responded icily. "You instructed me never to hit those weaker than me," it was an offhand compliment, "and she is but half my sister," followed by a venomous remark that stung her to the bone.

Ari stormed from the room, and Ziva flung herself to the floor on her knees, covering her face, overcome with a mixture of rage, exhaustion, and misery. She knew her father was looking at her with contempt, but she couldn't not control herself—for just a moment she had to lose it, and in the moments before she knew Eli David would ultimately suspend her from Mossad for her rogue actions, she took comfort in knowing that the contact she had trusted to get Jenny out of the Middle East had succeeded in seeing her into the Baltimore airport.

* * *

><p>Saturday afternoon after a sleepless night, Gibbs sat on the couch with the television on—and muted. He was lazily playing with the dog; Oz had one end of a ragged chew toy, and Gibbs had the other loosely grasped in his fist. He refused to let go, and Oz happily whined and tried to take it, his big body wriggling.<p>

Gibbs' eyes were on whatever news channel he had it on. The television was primarily for Madeleine's movies, but today he chose to use it. His attempts to work on the boat had again resulted in personal injury and damage to the shell, so he'd gruffly abandoned it. Madeleine was at the Zoo with Emily Fornell and her parents, a play date that had been planned for a while now. Gibbs had been invited, but out of respect for Jenny, he had declined, and now he almost wished he was there—if only to take his mind off of everything else.

He was contemplating going in to work to bury himself in cold cases until it was time to pick Emmy up at Diane and Tobias' when the door handle rattled.

He paused, and Oz released the chew toy, letting out a joyous howl and bounding to the front.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes; the rattling changed to knocking, and then finally the doorbell, and he got up with an annoyed grunt, snapping his fingers for Oz to heel as he tried to figure out who the hell would be harassing his front porch on a Saturday. He squinted through the stained glass window as he approached and unlocked the door, throwing it open—the glass must have distorted his vision—because there was no way—

_She was standing on his doorstep. _

"Why—Jethro—why," she stammered, a glazed look in her eyes. "Why was your door locked?" she asked desperately.

"Jen?" he asked hoarsely, unable to blink.

She lifted her shoulders and managed a smile that trembled.

"In the flesh," she said.

Oz pushed past his legs and started to bark at Jenny. She flinched violently and leapt away, lunging forward into him, her face pressed into his shirt.

He reached out and just pulled her inside. He let Oz out front—the damn picket fence would keep him in, anyway—because the dog seemed to be _scaring_ Jenny. He shut the door and pressed her against it, wrapping his arms around her in a hug so tight it would make Abby proud. Her body seemed fragile in his arms; she collapsed back against the door and held onto his shoulders, her fingers digging into his shirt as if she might never let go. He buried his face in her hair, breathing her in, his lips moving soundlessly, and it took him a lifetime to get a grip on the situation and think beyond the fact that she was standing here, in his house, _here_.

It took him too long to notice that her hands were shaking, and his shirt was damp because she was crying, and it took him too long to register that when he'd been staring at her for those split seconds after he opened the door, she'd been bruised and cut and broken looking—and when that all clicked, he leapt back from her, his hands flying gently to her hair, her cheeks, her neck.

"What happened?" he demanded aggressively. "What happened to you?" he asked huskily.

He tilted her head up, his thumb trailing over her dry, chapped bottom lip, rubbing into the tears that were soaking her face. She closed her eyes and he didn't think she could talk for a moment; she took deep breaths and just gripped his shirt tighter. His eyes roamed over her—she was dressed like Ziva, in beaten cargo pants and a thin, loose black shirt. Her shoes were battered and ripped, she had no jewelry, a black eye, teeth marks etched into the skin near her eyebrows—dried blood on her, badly healed cuts. He reached for her hands and noticed burns—cigarette burns—on her arms and fingers, ruined nail beds, and his throat closed up.

He stepped closer, gentler, protectively, looking down at her.

"Jen," he pleaded, lacing his fingers into hers. "Jenny, look at me."

She opened her eyes.

"Thought you were dead, Jen," he said gruffly, earnest relief in every line of his face.

She looked scared; there was death in her eyes for a moment. She nodded, and her mouth formed the words—_me too_. She leaned forward into him, resting her head on his chest heavily, her shoulders shaking harshly.

"I'm thirsty," she said weakly, her slumping against him. "I'm exhausted."

He fought the urge to ask her what happened again, because he knew she couldn't take it right now. He swallowed hard and brushed his lips against her temple, his hands running through her hair again. He set his jaw and stepped back, indicating the couch. She limped when she walked, and he stomached that for about a second before he just picked her up. He knew it was bad when she didn't fight him.

He sat down on the coffee table, amidst colouring books and abandoned dolls' clothing, and he leaned forward, his hands on her shoulders, looking at her intently.

"What do you need?"

She put her hands over her face and shook her head.

"I need a doctor," she requested painfully. "No hospital," she added—he nodded; so she needed Ducky.

She pulled her hands down, her face dirt and tear-smeared. He sat back, shifting, about to get up and start handling the situation—though he didn't really know what was going on yet—but she stopped him. She grabbed his hands and held them tightly in hers.

"Where is she?" she asked quietly. "She can't see me like this."

"She isn't here, Jen," he assured her gently. "We've got time to clean up."

Jenny nodded, but she didn't release his hands. Her grip was fierce, frightened. She pursed her chapped lips.

"Jethro," she said, her eyes fixed on his, searching. "Tell me I'm safe."

He leaned forward again, extricating his hands firmly and this time capturing hers within his. He held her gaze, his nose inches from hers, focusing not on the injuries on her face that provoked his anger so violently he thought he'd shatter—but on her scared green eyes.

"You're safe, Jen."

* * *

><p>Gibbs called Ducky immediately—it gave him a moment to focus—and had the good doctor's promise that he would be over as soon as possible. He got Jenny ice water and sat down next to her on the couch, his hands going immediately to the teeth marks on her brow.<p>

He brushed her hair back, his jaw set tightly. She winced, but she didn't pull away. He was careful to keep his touch gentle, but he sensed his closeness was making her tense, and after a moment of heavy silence, he let his hands fall awkwardly and leaned helplessly against the couch. She leaned back and turned towards him, and he was relieved when she curled closer and reached for his shirt.

"What happened, Jenny?" he asked again.

She shook her head.

"It was bad," she said hollowly. "It was—just _bad_. I," she shook her head again and compressed her lips, her voice catching. "I can't talk about it right now, I can't—"

"It's okay, Jen, no, not right now, then—"

"I can't right now," she mumbled again.

She sidled up to him and rested her cheek on his chest, her breathing shallow as she tried to steady it. He felt her throat moving as she swallowed. He ran his hand through her hair again, very lightly working through the knots with a pained frown. He was having a hard enough time really grasping the concept of her being here, and contending with the state she seemed to be in was even more overwhelming. Madeleine would be home in a few hours—and there were so many things to get straight in the meantime—

"I lost my entire team," Jenny said into his shirt. Her shoulders shook, and he turned towards her a little more, resting a hand on her waist. He slipped his other around her shoulders. "I lost Fitz in the fray. Holland…they shot Holland, and the Tunisian agents…Ziva said they were dead."

Gibbs ignored the fact that she'd just said she didn't want to talk.

"Ziva?" he asked quietly.

She drew a deep breath, sniffling, and titled her head back, looking at him starkly.

"She saved my life, Jethro," Jenny said shakily. "She came to get me. Against orders. _Alone_." Jenny looked down at herself, her hands plucking at threads on her shirt. "She brought me clothes, water. She," Jenny closed her eyes, tears squeezing out the edges. "She got me out."

Gibbs lowered his lips to her forehead, rubbing her shoulder gently. He wanted more information—gotten her out of _where_? Saved her from _what_? A thousand violent scenarios flashed through his head, and he needed somewhere to direct the rage this was causing, but he couldn't press her.

"Morrow know you're here?" he asked.

"_No_ _one_ knows where I am," she answered meaningfully. She was looking at him again, her hollow, raw eyes red and sunken. "Ziva told me she was getting me home—I thought she meant headquarters, maybe Israel." For the first time, the shadow of a smile hit Jenny's lips, "when that plane landed in Baltimore I—I couldn't believe it-and _then_," she laughed in disbelief, but the sound wasn't the laugh he was used to. "And then your door was locked."

"It's to keep Madeleine safe," he muttered, shaking his head. He ran his thumb over her lips again. "I thought I was seein' things."

She bit her lips.

"I'm sure this isn't how you wanted me to show up," she said softly.

His eyes darkened. He shook his head tensely, drawing her a little closer. He felt like the world had stopped for a moment; she was hurt, something had obviously gone wrong, and he was trying to piece together the shards of it—it was like it had been sometimes in Europe, before Israel, before Madeleine, and he was stunned by it.

She ran her hand over his biceps and down his arm, squeezing at the elbow.

"Jethro," she murmured. "You're holding too tight."

He loosened his grip immediately and drew back, his eyes running over her apologetically, protectively. She leaned away and pushed strands of hair off her forehead, wincing again with the movements. The black shirt she wore drew up and revealed bare strips of white skin, and he reached for it, drawing it up and discovering more cuts and bruises—a bad one blooming low over her ribcage.

"Goddamnit," he swore hoarsely.

She fumbled with the shirt and took it from his hands, pushing it down. When he looked back up at her again, she looked anywhere but his face, and her eyes fixed on his chest.

"You have painkillers?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. "Or a drink?"

He handed her the water and she looked at it skeptically, but she drank it slowly, careful not to go too fast. She handed it back to him, her fingers brushing his, and looked wry.

"Got anything stronger?"

"When's the last time you ate?" he asked instead.

She looked unhappily at him.

"I'm not hungry," she argued softly.

His hand ran over her stomach.

"You're half starved," he pointed out.

He hadn't seen her this thin since before she had the baby, and he highly doubted the new look was due to a healthy workout regimen. She didn't answer him; she ran her tongue over her lips and stared at him uncomfortably, and then she looked away.

"I need clothes," she said hoarsely. "I need a shower. I want Ducky to clear me first, but," she paused. "I need a warm bed, and sleep, and I need—I need to see my baby," she choked out. She reached out for him. "I need you to sit with me until Ducky gets here, just sit with me," she pleaded, starting to cry again. "Hug me again."

"It's all right, Jen," he said, drawing her closer, but ensuring he wasn't hurting her this time. "You're safe, I'm right here, just take it easy," he muttered.

It occurred to her that he was comforting her with a surprising amount of ease, and there was a placated, familiar tone to his voice that seemed eerily familiar—she couldn't remember Jethro ever being so quick to connect with her emotionally, but then, she'd never really come to him this shaken before. He kept up the stream of soothing murmurs, and she realized he was talking to her the same way he'd always talked to Madeleine when she'd been hurt or upset, and if this sort of thing came so naturally to him now, maybe Jethro had changed more than she could have anticipated.

* * *

><p>In the back of his mind, he deliberated on it carefully for a while, and by the time Ducky had arrived and shooed him away to see to Jenny, Gibbs had made his decision. He stood in the corner in the kitchen, keeping his voice low, carrying on a muted conversation with Kate.<p>

"I need you to keep her for a few hours after you pick her up," he instructed Kate.

"Okay," Kate agreed. "And you want me to pick up those things before I get her?"

"She'll ask too many questions if you take her to Georgetown, and you don't have the answers," Gibbs responded. "Noemi will have the things ready for you when you get there. It's just clothing, nothing suspicious," he assured her.

"You want me to bring the box to you first?"

"No."

"Is everything okay, Gibbs?" Kate asked sincerely. "What's with the cloak-and-dagger act?"

Gibbs moved the receiver away from his mouth and rubbed his jaw. His head was killing him, no doubt, because of how tightly his teeth had been clenched since Jenny showed up.

"Madeleine's mother is here," he answered finally.

"Oh!" gasped Kate. "You want to surprise her!" she squealed. "Gibbs, that's so cute!"

"Yeah," Gibbs agreed dryly. "Kate," he said firmly. "This is need to know. No one else does. I trust you to keep this quiet."

"Of course," she said uncertainly, the excited note going out of her voice. She hesitated. "Is something _wrong_, Gibbs?"

He paced the kitchen and looked out into the living room. Ducky appeared to be wrapping it up.

"Her mom's hurt," he said tightly. "I don't want Emmy here until she's fixed up."

"Okay," Kate said softly, resigned. "Is it bad?" she asked—and Gibbs remembered again why he'd chosen Kate out of all of them; she asked no inane questions about who Jenny was, she was practical, and asked for information she needed.

"She'll heal," Gibbs said curtly.

Kate was silent for a moment.

"Gibbs, do you need me to keep Maddie overnight? I can take her to a movie and keep her distracted. I know her mother probably wants to see her…" Kate trailed off, and Gibbs stopped pacing.

He looked into the living room again, trying to rapidly make the right decision. He didn't want to keep Madeleine from Jenny any longer than he had to, but he was almost certain Jenny wasn't in a state to handle Emmy right now; no matter when she got home, the sight of Jenny was going to catapult her into a hyperactivity neither of them would be able to control, and Jenny needed time to recoup.

"Is that trouble for you?" he asked.

"Not at all," Kate said quickly. "My apartment is totally child safe," she assured him.

He snorted, because that was the last thing on his mind.

"Keep her for the night," he said, grudgingly.

"Tomorrow?" Kate asked.

"Bring her over after church," he said.

"What about the box of clothes, you need that tonight?" Kate asked.

He shook his head, suddenly eager to get off the phone. Ducky and Jenny were chatting in low voices now.

"No, I've got stuff she can wear," he muttered. He cleared his throat gruffly. "Thanks, Kate," he said seriously.

"Anytime, Gibbs," she answered earnestly. "Does Fornell know I'm coming?"

"Called him before I called you," Gibbs admitted roughly.

"I'll make sure she's fed and as calm as possible when I bring her tomorrow."

Distracted still, Gibbs just grunted a quick answer and hung up, folding the cell phone and slipping it into his pocket. He strode towards the couch, and Ducky got up to meet him, his medical bag buckled up neatly on the coffee table. Jenny was stretched out on the sofa, and she looked much more comfortable.

"Duck?" Gibbs asked.

Ducky took his bag and pointed Gibbs towards the door.

"It _was_ wonderful to see you again, my dear," Ducky said. "Regardless of circumstances. And I must again tell you, Madeleine is an absolutely engaging child."

Jenny laughed softly.

"Goodbye, Ducky," she said, as Ducky lead the way to the front door. Gibbs tried to stop, but Ducky shook his head and led them out onto the porch—where Gibbs was careful to make sure Oz wasn't allowed back inside the house.

"He's barking at her like hell," Gibbs explained, when Ducky gave him a curious look. "She doesn't like dogs."

"Ah," Ducky said sympathetically. "Well, it's best not to let him jump on her, as it stands."

"Duck," prompted Gibbs urgently.

"Oh, she's quite all right, Jethro," Ducky said calmingly. "Physically she's been rather appallingly abused, though nothing is broken. Her ankle is sprained, she's very lucky her ribs aren't shattered, as they seem to have taken a beating, and most of the injuries are contained in superficial offenses to the skin. She'll benefit a great deal from simply being clean and rested."

"She tell you what happened?"

Ducky sighed heavily, his eyes on Gibbs.

"Don't you think it's particularly obvious she's been tortured?" he asked.

"Yeah, Duck, I figured," snapped Gibbs. He glared stonily at his friend for a moment, and then reached up to rub his jaw, glancing through the window into the house. "You know what I mean," he said gruffly, almost talking under his breath.

"If you're asking if she's been raped, Jethro, I did not ask her. And she did not tell me," Ducky said shortly. He paused for a moment and softened his tone. "But I think not. She would have requested I get her emergency contraception."

"How do you know?"

"That is the kind of woman Jennifer is," Ducky said pointedly. "Don't press her to talk, Jethro, she's quite upset."

Gibbs nodded and backed off, holding his hands up.

"She'll be okay?" he clarified.

Ducky surprised him by laughing.

"Jethro, have you ever known Jennifer _not_ to be okay?" he asked logically.

He clapped Gibbs on the shoulder and left on a light note, and Gibbs felt an overwhelming rush of relief. He stayed for a moment to make sure that Oz didn't idiotically throw himself under Ducky's car or something, and then he was back in the house in a flash—locking the door out of habit.

Jenny was sitting up on the couch, combing her fingers through her own hair. She seemed to be moving a little easier, and she looked up at him as he approached—and she stood before he could sit down. He reached out and took her shoulders protectively, stepping closer. She let her hands fall from her hair and smiled at him weakly, grasping his elbows. He waited for her to speak.

"I still need a drink," she said hoarsely. "If you could manage a bath—"

"How do you feel about Disney Princess bubble soap?" he asked, arching a brow.

She laughed a real laugh.

"I'll take anything," she said. She bit her lip, hesitating. "Where is Madeleine, Jethro?"

He shifted his weight and turned, sitting on the arm of the couch and pulling Jen towards him a little. He rested his hands on her waist lightly, his eyes roaming over her apprehensively for a moment.

"She's at the Zoo with Emily Fornell," he said slowly. "My agent is going to keep her tonight," he admitted after a moment.

Jenny's expression darkened—disappointment, frustration, but she hesitated to say anything.

"You need to breathe, Jen," he told her wisely.

It was similar to what he'd said when she had first come back from the mission with Ziva after Madeleine's birth, and he'd basically told her she needed to take a damn minute to switch from soldier to mother.

She nodded slowly, reaching out to touch his face.

"This doesn't feel real," she said hoarsely, her voice shaken again.

His eyes were trained again on her black eye, the bite marks on her brow, her cut and chapped lips. His thumbs pressed ever so slightly into her sides, and he nodded curtly.

"I know," he agreed.

A thousand things seemed to go through her eyes, and then she took a deep breath.

"I want to be alone in the bath," she said firmly.

He nodded again and brought her knuckles to his lips.

"I'll make dinner," he muttered. "_Yell_ if you need me."

* * *

><p>He finally got her that drink after she'd taken the longest bath in the history of human existence and eaten dinner with a fair amount of silence. He watched her sitting up in his bed, swallowed in one of his Marine corps T-shirts and a pair of his boxers, her air-dried hair falling messily over her shoulders. It was uneven and ragged, as if it had been cut—but as he watched her drink the whiskey, he admitted that now that she was clean and dressed in his clothing, she looked much less devastating than she had when she'd shown up. With the dirt cleaned off, her injuries stood out starkly, but they looked much easier to handle—though he doubted she felt that way.<p>

He left the room and grabbed a hairbrush from Madeleine's bathroom, coming back into the master bedroom with the yellow Pocahontas hair tool in one hand and his tumbler of bourbon in the other. He set his glass down next to the bottle on the bedside table and crawled onto the bed, sitting back and gesturing to her.

She looked at him with raised eyebrows, her teeth pressing against the rim of her glass.

"C'mere," he said gruffly.

She shifted gingerly, moving towards him, and he made room for her between his legs and pulled her head back towards his chest.

"What are you doing?" she asked softly.

"Brushing," he muttered sternly, clearly trying not to sound too feminine.

She laughed quietly and relaxed. He took the first bit of her hair and started to carefully brush the tangles out in the same way he took care of Madeleine's after her baths or wild play days at school. She made a noise after a moment and shook her head.

"It's uneven," she murmured, sensing his discomfort with the length of her hair. "It was cut. Pulled out," she remarked mildly. "I should just cut it."

"Don't cut it," he said.

"It grows back, Jethro."

"Don't cut it," he said again.

She fell silent, absorbed in drinking again. He pushed the untangled, brushed hair over her shoulder, moving around her head expertly. She reached up and drew her hands threw it, relieved to be touching it when it was clean and cared for again. She cleared her throat and turned her nose into it.

"Does it freak you out that I smell like Madeleine?"

He laughed.

"No," he said honestly.

"Really?"

"You used to smell like her all the time," he answered.

"_Really_?" she repeated, clinging to the inane conversation.

"Mmhmm," he muttered. "When she was a baby."

Jenny sighed, moving her head slightly.

"When she was a _baby_," she quoted wistfully.

He paused and squeezed her shoulder gently.

"It goes fast," he said.

She nodded and switched her glass from one hand to the other. She wound her arm around his leg, grasping his knee and holding onto him lightly, her nails trailing up and down his shin absently. He finished brushing her hair and threw the brush unceremoniously to the foot of the wrinkled bed sheets. Her eyes followed it, and she finished off her drink. He didn't miss the way she looked to the bedside table at the bottle, and he swallowed hard but preemptively poured her another generous amount anyway.

Might as well get it out of the way while the kid was gone.

She leaned against him heavily, tilting her head up. He looked down, his eyes lingering on her broken and cut nail beds for a moment. He reached out and ran his fingers over the tender skin, a frown manifesting on his face, and she pulled her hand away, pressing her glass to her lips again.

"You know," she remarked in a low voice. "I've never slept in your bed before."

He paused, distracted, and looked at her in surprise. The statement seemed like it couldn't possibly be true, but as he wracked his brains, he realized it was. He had never stopped sleeping on the couch after Diane left him, and in the brief time he and Jenny had worked together stateside, he'd slept at her place.

"You didn't miss much," he muttered.

She laughed a little.

"Makes you feel any better, I wasn't sleeping here, either," he added gruffly.

"Why the change?" she asked.

He shrugged.

"Needed it to feel like a home."

She turned her head up to look at him again, blinking slowly.

"It feels like a home, Jethro," she said.

He smiled and slid his hand up her arm. He touched her brow, his fingers dipping into the bite-marks. She shuddered a little and looked down, immediately going back to the bourbon. He frowned and sat forward, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Hey," he said gently. "I have to go get the dog," he remembered suddenly.

She made a derisive noise, and he smirked.

"I'll put him in Emmy's room," he assured her.

"Oh, he'll get fur and slobber on her things," whined Jenny.

Gibbs laughed and extricated himself from her, standing up and heading out of the room.

"It's like you don't get that _she_ loves the dog, Jen," he said.

He went to the front door and went to get Oz, who was lying on the porch sulkily, obviously not pleased at having been banished to the outdoors all day. One or two hours chasing squirrels was fun; an entire evening with no violent cuddling from his little mistress was torture. Gibbs coaxed him inside and put his dry food bowl and water into Emmy's room, spending a moment to give him some human contact.

He had to go back into his room and pressure Jenny a little, and he was reluctant to do so. Oz wagged his tail happily, munching on dog food and—as Jenny had predicted—slobbering all over Gibbs's hand and T-shirt. He said goodnight to the dog and went back to his room where he took off that shirt so as not to gross Jenny out and crawled back into bed.

She was laying on her back now, her empty glass balanced on her stomach, and he saw her looking again at the bottle. He reached over and took the glass gently, putting it on the table with his and settling on his side next to her. He touched her cheek and drew her face towards his. He ran his hand down her neck to her shoulder, his fingers pressing into her lightly, and she turned towards him, apprehension etched on her face. She pressed her palm against his bare chest.

"Jethro," she said, her voice hitching. "I can't. I need a few days. I can't tonight—"

He shook his head sternly.

"No," he said, placating her. "Forget it, Jen, I'm not expecting sex," he muttered gruffly.

She closed her eyes. She moved her head closer and pressed her lips against his unexpectedly, and he was unprepared for how much he'd missed her to crash over him the minute she kissed him. He rested his palm against her neck and kissed back, content to let her take the lead but refusing to take a breath until black spots danced in his vision. She gasped for breath and her nose pressed into his cheek.

"I want you, though," she assured him tiredly. Her throat moved under his fingers as she swallowed. "God, I miss you, Jethro."

He nodded, using all of his strength to resist the urge to kiss her again.

"You need to talk about it, Jen," he said instead.

She flinched and her brows knit together unhappily, as if she'd been expecting him to push her but had so hoped he wouldn't.

"I know."

"You've gotta let it out before you face Madeleine."

"I _know_," she said tersely.

She took a deep breath and shifted onto her side, curling her body towards him and facing him. He rested his head on his palm, propped up on his elbow, and she mimicked the pose, chewing on the inside of her lip. He simply waited for her to start talking.

"You know I'm talking because I'm drunk," she said dryly.

He nodded. She must not have had any alcohol at all recently, because it used to take at least a little more than two double shots of whiskey to shake up her sobriety. She studied him quietly for a very long time, and then took a deep breath and parted her lips.

"Have you ever been tortured, Jethro?"

He looked at her steadily.

"No," he said honestly.

He had been in war, in battle, and he had been through hell, but he had never experienced the kind of cold-blooded torture he was sure she was talking about. He had never been a prisoner of war, nor held by insurgents, or even experienced the sort of pseudo-training torture SEALS or special ops members went through to prep them, and he had no intention of pretending he could relate.

She smiled bitterly.

"What happened, Jen?" he inquired gently.

She sighed heavily.

"You knew I was operating under radio silence," she said calmly. "It was to carry out a series of sting operations my team in Cairo and I had been orchestrating for months. It was a three-pronged strike in Uzbekistan, Chechnya, and Tunisia—going after Al-Qaeda. At the last minute we had to change the plan from Chechnya to Azerbaijan, and that was what worried me most, but—"

"You were compromised?" guessed Gibbs tensely.

"No," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. "It all went off _without a hitch_. We hit Azerbaijan and completely blindsided them. Obliterated their compound and their weapons stores, and I know we got into Uzbekistan before word of what happened even hit the underground radars," she explained. "I—I—" she took a deep breath. "I lost Fitzgerald, my senior agent, in Uzbekistan, but we were cleared to move on to the final cell in Tunisia…" she trailed off, compressing her lips. "Fitz had a family," she mumbled, lifting one hand and pressing it to her lips.

Gibbs reached out and took her hand, lacing his fingers into it and squeezing. She took a deep breath and bit down hard on her lip before continuing hoarsely.

"I had that—bad feeling—in Tunisia, but when we broke into the compound, we got the cell—including, Jethro—including," she took a moment. "The leader of the cell in Tunisia was the Palestinian Arab who killed Tali in the attack on Tel Aviv."

Gibbs nodded curtly.

"Good, Jen," he said fiercely.

But here, she faltered.

"Mossad was meant to back us up in Tunisia, but something went wrong. Holland and I—and a few of the agents from the Tunisian NCIS base—made it to the extraction site, and Mossad never showed," she stopped and grit her teeth. "We were _ambushed_."

"Backlash?" Gibbs asked. "You sure you got out clean in the former Soviet states?"

"Azerbaijan, yes," Jenny answered. "From what I can figure, something got fucked in Uzbekistan," she faltered. "It wasn't thugs that ambushed us in Tunisia, it was Al-Qaeda in the flesh—and they took my entire team out. Narrowed it down to Holland and I, and when we refused to talk, they shot Holland in the head and left him there—and they _took_ me."

Gibbs set his jaw. Uzbekistan was ringing a bell somewhere in his head, but he wasn't zeroing in on that at the moment. He pulled Jenny's hand close to his chest, lowering his lips to it.

"Why you?" he asked softly.

She shook her head and turned away, putting her face into her palm. Her face crumpled.

"Because I'm a female," she said softly, breaking into tears. "I was in charge, I looked easiest to break, I don't _know_," she admitted, stumbling through theories. "I was just—I was a mess, because they'd killed my people, but—but I was so glad I wasn't dead, because all I could think about was you and Madeleine, and I was scared of what they were going to do to me but I knew as long as I was alive, I wasn't—well, I wasn't dead—!"

He shifted closer and touched her hair, running his fingers through it. He leaned over her and pressed his lips to her ear, murmuring softly. She lay her head down on the pillow and kept her arm over her face.

"I woke up in a cell," she continued hoarsely. "I—and they tortured me. They wanted information. You can imagine—I refuse to give you details; I don't want to talk about it. It hurt. It all _hurt_. I was dehydrated and sick and starving. And no one knew where I was. And then—Ziva showed up. She just showed up, alone, and she—she got me out. She didn't just get me out. She sent me to _you_. She's—she's remarkable, she's like—she's a goddamn angel, Jethro."

She was crying thickly now, her face still buried in her arm and the pillow. He pressed his forehead into her shoulder heavily. He owed Ziva so much for this—so very much. He had to find a way, some day, to show her how much he valued her.

He stroked Jen's hair gently, slowly running his fingers and eyes over the stark injuries on her body.

"Jen," he prompted painfully, his hand running lower on her back.

She shook her head.

"No," she murmured, understanding him. "No, no. No one raped me. Not physically, Jethro."

"Not—physically?" He didn't understand.

"It wouldn't have made it any worse," Jenny cried. "I still had my autonomy taken away; I was still helpless and unable to resist them! But those men, for all they did, had orders not to humiliate me on that level," Jenny rubbed her hand over her face and then moved it and looked at him with a raw expression. "The woman in charge—in Cairo, they took me back to Cairo, from Tunisia, to throw my body back at NCIS when they were done, I assume—she wouldn't _let_ them rape me."

A sardonic look flashed through her green eyes.

"She was the biter," she hissed, gesturing to the marks on her brow.

Gibbs' fingers immediately flew to the raw injury, and he touched gently. Jenny closed her eyes.

"Al-Qaeda—had a _woman_ in charge of a cell?" he asked huskily.

"She wasn't even Arab," Jenny said weakly. "She was Swedish."

Gibbs froze. He suddenly remembered why Uzbekistan was bothering him the moment she said a Swedish fanatic held her hostage—

_-the flight registry says he's flying out of Uzbekistan—_

_-how do you sell Marta as a double agent?—_

McGee had sworn Ari had flown to the United States out of Uzbekistan, and his fanatical Hamas contact had been Marta—_Swedish_ Marta.

Ari's voice ran in his head:

_Yet I have made an invaluable trade that will convince them otherwise._

It was what Haswari had said when he assured Gibbs Al-Qaeda would believe he was one of them.

He opened his mouth to lash out—but he remembered abruptly that Jenny wouldn't know what had happened with Haswari stateside, not if she'd been so immersed in these missions—or even held captive during that time.

Haswari had said Jenny had provided the Intel that had led to Ari thwarting Hamas' assassination of Sharon and Bush, but as that had also jeopardized his position as a mole, he'd had to trade them something convincing—and Gibbs was very acutely aware that the something must have been Jenny in Tunisia—and that also explained why Ziva had ignored all orders to go get Jenny alone.

Unable to say anything about it to Jenny, and completely unable to speak from anger, Gibbs wrapped his arms around Jenny and bulled her closer, tucking her head under his chin and resting his cheek against the crown of her head. He swallowed hard, silently soothing her until she stopped crying, and started breathing easier, and finally—finally—fell asleep in his arms.

He was awake long after her, listening to her breath, convincing himself she was really alive and well by running his hands lightly over her, and trying time and time again to piece together a timeline or a viable chain of events that truly explained what the hell Ari Haswari's end game was—and where his loyalties lie.

* * *

><p>He could sense Jen's anxiety the next day as they waited for Kate to bring Madeleine home. She was sitting on the couch, familiarizing herself slowly with the dog. Gibbs had finally convinced Oz to stop howling at Jenny every time he saw her, and she had come around to the idea of petting him so long as he sat like a polite boy and didn't lick her incessantly. She was tense and stiff, and he knew she didn't like that she still only had his clothes to wear and no make-up to speak of.<p>

He sat down on the coffee table in front of her and smirked. She'd showered again this morning, and she looked another world better. She'd braided her hair, and though the uneven wisps of it fell out, she looked fresh and nice. Her eye was still black, and her body still used and sore, but her spirit was cleaner, and better.

"He's not so bad," she said of the dog.

"Madeleine worships him," Gibbs noted, rolling his eyes.

He leaned forward, and Jenny looked down immediately, focusing on his chest. She reached out and hooked her fingers into the dog tag necklace he had on, thinking for a moment they were his old ones, and then catching the end in her palm and reading it. He let her look; he'd gotten so used to wearing it since Madeleine pulled it out of Kelly's time capsule that he'd forgotten she might ask about it.

She didn't ask now, though—she just pressed it against his heart and looked up at him.

"Will she be happy to see me?"

"Are you crazy?" he asked hoarsely. He reached out and pushed her hair out of her face. "Happy's an understatement."

Jenny beamed at him. There was a shout and a laugh from outside, and Gibbs straightened up.

"Stay here," he said, smiling as he stood and went to the door.

He opened it and went outside. Kate was helping Madeline out of her car, and Madeleine darted towards Gibbs the moment her feet touched the ground.

"Daddy!" she shouted happily. "We saw the new Star Wars!" she screamed excitedly, as he swept her up, swung her up for a kiss, and placed her back on the ground. She hugged his legs tightly, and he caught the skeptical look on Kate's face.

"I shouldn't have taken her to that movie," she said sheepishly. "I assumed it was like the others, but it was PG-13, and it was really violent. I'm sorry, I know you watch what she watches—"

"Forget it," Gibbs said, waving his hand.

He'd worry about whatever trauma _Revenge of the Sith_ might have caused later.

Madeleine made a cradle with her hands.

"Princess Leia was TEENY!" she informed him. "And Kate bought me a smoothie."

"Tell Kate thank you," Gibbs said, and crouched down. He glanced up at Kate, and she nodded and turned to get the box he'd requested out of her car. "Madeleine," he said gently and rested his hand on her shoulder.

She bounced in front of him for a moment, and then settled down, her brows going up. He noticed she was wearing something new—Kate must have taken her to buy some clothes; he'd have to roll his eyes about that one later, too.

"Can we go inside? It's hot and sticky," Madeleine pointed out.

Gibbs nodded slowly.

"I have something for you in the house," he said. "You have to promise me not to be too rough, okay, sweetie?"

Madeleine cocked her head, interested.

"Is it _another_ puppy?" she asked slyly.

"It's better than a puppy," he assured her.

She scoffed and twisted away, hands on her hips.

"Nothing is better than puppies," she retorted.

He grinned and took her hand, leading her towards the house. Kate followed him.

"Did she behave?" he asked.

"Yeah, she's a doll," Kate answered. She laughed. "She slept on my couch, though, seemed to think it was cooler."

Gibbs reached for the door, and Kate paused.

"Uh, do you want me to go?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"Nah, Kate, don't worry about it," he said.

He trusted Kate to be around for a minute. He'd deal with her and the box of Jenny's things while Madeleine and Jenny had a moment. Gibbs opened the door and watched Madeleine throw herself down immediately and chuck her shoes off.

"OZ!" she screamed, and the dog came running joyfully.

He began licking her face and she threw her arms around his neck.

"Oz, you doofus," Madeleine giggled.

Gibbs shut the door behind Kate and looked up, raising his eyebrows at Jen. She sat on the arm of the couch, her arms crossed across her chest.

"Hey, Emmy," Gibbs said loudly. She looked up at him, and he pointed. "_Look_."

Madeleine looked up brightly and followed his instruction. He couldn't keep the smile off his face as he watched her stare in consternation for a moment, and then the absolute joy that lit up her face as she scrambled up.

"MAMA!" she yelled. "MAMA! MAMA, I CAN SEE YOU!" she shouted.

Jenny crouched down to Madeleine's level, and Madeleine slammed into her so hard Gibbs winced—she'd obviously completely forgotten he asked her to be gentle. To her credit, Jenny didn't even _flinch. _She wrapped Madeleine in her arms, picked her up, and sat heavily back down on the arm of the couch, burying a smiling face into the little girl's hair.

Gibbs folded his arms smugly and grinned.

Madeleine squirmed in Jenny's arms, touching her hair and her face.

"Mama, how are you here? You did not say you would come! It is not a special day!" she chattered, and then she burst into the inevitable Hebrew, and Jenny fell into speaking it, too, their own little connection they shared, and she caught Madeleine's hands and kissed them when Madeleine frantically touched the tears that appeared on Jenny's face.

Kate made a noise, and Gibbs, suddenly remembering she was there, turned to find her tearing up.

"Ah, jeez," he muttered sheepishly, taking her arm and leading her towards the table in the dining room.

He took the box from Kate and put it on the table. Kate rubbed her nose.

"How long has it been since they've seen each other?" she asked pitifully.

Gibbs looked over at mother and daughter, still clinging to each other. He calculated silently.

"A year," he revealed, almost in awe.

It was longer than he'd ever gone without seeing Madeleine, but it was true—at Easter, it had been a year, and Easter had been the one-year-anniversary of Tali's death.

"Oh, Ima, you are hurt!" Emmy cried, her hands cupping her mother's face. "Biting isn't allowed!" she snapped sternly.

"I'm okay, honey," Jenny soothed. "I'm not hurt. Not now that I've seen you," she murmured.

Oz trotted up to Madeleine and started whining at her and licking her bare foot. Gibbs turned to the box.

"What all is in here?" he asked.

"Noemi had a bunch of clothes ready. She said it's mostly '_Senora's college things'_ though," Kate quoted, "and that it might be too small. The other stuff is in Egypt, it seems. Noemi put perfume in there, but when I took Maddie to get some clothes, I bought toiletries and a toothbrush, in case you didn't have that."

"Jeez," Gibbs muttered again. "Kate, you're a lifesaver."

Kate snuck a look past him, a smile touching her lips.

"Don't mention it, Gibbs," Kate said sincerely. She was looking at Jenny and Maddie again. "Will you be in tomorrow?" she asked.

Gibbs rubbed his jaw, following her gaze. He hadn't even considered what they were going to do about that. He probably needed to call in—but at the same time, he needed to make sure Jen checked in with Morrow. He shut his brain down there and waved his hand tensely.

"I'll figure it out tonight," he said flippantly.

Jenny buried her face in Madeleine's hair again, and when she came up, her eyes were dryer, and she stood up and walked over, clutching Madeleine tightly.

"Daddy," Madeleine cooed, looking around at him. "Mommy's here."

"I know," he said gruffly.

"Kate," Madeleine said, switching her attention proudly. "Mommy's here. This is my Mommy."

Kate nodded uncertainly. Gibbs gestured to her.

"Jen, this is Caitlin Todd," he introduced roughly. "Kate, Jen. Er, Jenny Shepard."

Jenny supported Madeleine with one hand and reached to shake.

"Former secret service," she said politely. "You put up with Jethro in a confined place, I'm impressed," she remarked wryly.

Kate laughed and shook Jenny's hand tightly.

"It's a pleasure to meet Madeleine's mother," she returned. "Even if Gibbs has said nothing about you."

Jenny smiled tensely and winced as Madeleine wrapped her legs around her waist tightly.

Gibbs started forward.

"Here," he said, holding his arms out. "She's too big."

Madeleine glared at him.

"Don't take me away," she barked.

"You'll still be able to see her," Gibbs soothed. "C'mere, Emmy, you're too heavy for Mommy right now."

"Oh!" cried Madeleine, suddenly obeying and leaping into Gibbs' arms. "Right, don't be rough!" she said solemnly. Gibbs had a good grip on her for all of five seconds before she wriggled out of his grip, slid down his legs, and leapt at Jenny again, attaching herself to her mother's knees.

Jenny smiled and rested her palms on her head. She nodded.

"Clothes?" she asked hopefully.

"And toiletries," Kate said.

Jenny closed her eyes and sighed. Kate smiled uncertainly and took a step towards the door.

"I'm—gonna go," she said politely. "You guys need some time," she added, and gestured sort of wildly. "Uh, Gibbs, just let me know about—if DiNozzo's in charge."

He nodded and started to see her out, but she waved him off.

"It was nice to meet you, Jenny," Kate said—and Jenny smiled at her silently.

Gibbs watched Kate slip out the front door and shut it tightly, and then he turned his attention to the girls. Madeleine beamed up at him, clinging to Jenny so happily, and he crouched down and hugged her, kissing her cheek.

"Daddy," Madeleine said earnestly. "Daddy, she is better than a puppy!"

* * *

><p>He understood all too well what Jenny was going through as the day went on. It was difficult to fit yourself into a life you felt like you weren't apart of; he remembered it from the days when Madeleine had lived in Israel. Jenny was having a hard time keeping up on top of that because she was still recovering from her ordeal.<p>

He had thought, initially, that it would be impossible to get Madeleine to sleep, but when he came back from walking the dog after dinner—which had been pizza, at Madeleine (and, surprisingly, Jenny's) request—Madeleine was half-asleep in Jenny's arms. Granted, they had dinner much later than usual due to the day's excitement, but it was still rare for Madeleine to be drifting off at eight o'clock.

The news was playing at low volume on the television, and Jenny was curled up on the couch with Madeleine sprawled out over her. Madeleine blinked heavily at the TV, her eyes staying closed a moment longer each time, and Jenny looked as if she would never actually let go of the child.

Gibbs smiled softly and sat down next to them, pulling Jen's legs over his lap. He rested his hands on her thighs and admired the casual, somewhat small, lounge clothing Noemi had sent over for her. She looked up at him with content eyes, patting Madeleine's back rhythmically.

"It's hard to believe four days ago I was in a cell," she said hoarsely, her lips resting near Madeleine's temple.

Madeleine shifted and snuggled closer to Jenny's breast.

"Don't, Jen," muttered Gibbs, clenching his jaw. "Two days ago I thought you were dead."

She cracked a smile and looked down admiringly at her daughter.

"She's so healthy," she sighed. "She's so happy and pretty and bright, Jethro."

"I try," he drawled.

She laughed quietly.

They fell into silence, and Jenny looked over at the news. A hint of a frown touched her face, and she rocked Madeleine a little, lowering her lips to her temple again and brushing her with kisses.

"Agent Todd is pretty," she said into the silence.

"Is she?" Gibbs asked mildly. He shrugged. "Didn't notice."

"You really haven't noticed anyone, Jethro?" Jenny asked slowly, her eyes fixed on him again. "It's been a year."

He shrugged, looking skeptical.

"Jen," he said heavily. "I made a commitment to you before Maddie was born."

"Some commitments are hard to keep."

"Yeah, okay," he scoffed. "There's one girl."

She raised her eyebrows at him tensely, and he rolled his eyes and pointed straight at Madeleine. Jenny giggled and looked sheepish, nodding her head.

"Point taken," she murmured. "I just feel so disconnected sometimes."

"I know," he said pointedly.

He watched her glance at the news again, and he squeezed her knee.

"What's the game plan tomorrow?" he asked.

She licked her lips slowly and met his eyes.

"What do you think is best, Jethro?" she asked.

And for a moment, it was like he was her boss again.

* * *

><p>She rummaged through the box after Madeleine was in bed and held up a scrap of silk clothing.<p>

"Have you seen what Noemi gave me to sleep in?" she asked dryly, holding out an amber-and-black nightie that looked fit to cover a Barbie doll.

Gibbs snorted, his brows going up in admiration. He tossed it back to her and she caught it in the same hand she held a clean pair of panties. She wrinkled her nose and held the soft silk material of the nightie to her face.

He pulled his—their? —bedroom door shut and leaned against it, crossing his arms.

"I'm gonna go in and talk to Morrow tomorrow morning," he said in a low voice. "I'll call Madeleine's preschool first thing and tell them she'll be out for a few days. You can have all the time with her you want. I'll send Kate over here while I'm at NCIS, and then I'll come home," he explained.

"I don't need an agent here," she growled defensively. "I can—"

"You don't have a weapon," he said curtly. "You're in danger until Morrow or Mossad clears you for me, and," he paused uncomfortably. "Look, I know how it can be. You might run into problems with Madeleine. She knows Kate; Kate could help smooth 'em out if they happen."

Jenny's mouth opened, and she looked angry and hurt simultaneously. He shuffled closer to her and touched her hips.

"'M sorry, Jen," he muttered guiltily.

She shook her head and tried to look flippant, but she knew he was right. It was like the time Madeleine had insisted she only knew Jethro as well as she knew Ari, and no matter how unfair it had seemed, nothing had changed it. Madeleine was still young, and as resilient as she was, there was no telling what could discomfit her.

"You're right," she conceded, folding her arms to her chest. "She just—she was so excited to see me," she faltered.

"She loves you," Gibbs assured her fiercely. "She loves you so much. She's changed some, though, Jen. Her life isn't what it was in Israel."

Jenny nodded, her shoulders sagging. She looked towards the door—Madeleine had tried to stay awake when Jenny transferred her to bed, but she'd been so tired from all the excitement that she'd fallen asleep. Jenny had still read to her and lay with her for what seemed like an eternity, until Gibbs dragged her away to spend time with Jenny himself.

When she couldn't stand the way Jethro was looking at her any more, Jenny lifted her arms and took a deep breath.

"I'm still too," she hesitated, and gestured to her body. "I'm still hurt," she finished, but shook the nightie in front of him. "But I'll sleep next to you in this."

He snorted, looking at it with some longing. Playfully, he nudged her towards the bathroom and she laughed, swatting his hand away. While she was changing—brushing her hair and her teeth—he threw off his clothes and got into boxers, making sure the door was unlocked so Madeleine could access them if she needed to.

He threw himself into bed and rolled onto his stomach, running his hand over the place where Jen had slept last night. It was still hard to believe that she was here—really here—and that so much had happened between Ari taking Kate and Jenny showing up almost immediately after.

He turned when he felt the bed dip next to him and she crawled over him, stretching out with her legs in his. He rolled towards her and let his eyes roam over the flimsy little nightie, drinking in the woman he'd missed so much.

"Jen," he muttered, leaning down to kiss her gently.

She threaded her hands into his hair. She broke the kiss, and her lips brushed his jaw, then his ear.

"I just need a few days," she pleaded. "I—I'm sorry, Jethro."

He shook his head. He didn't care, and he understood. It didn't matter so much to him anymore that they sleep together, as long as she was _sleeping_ next to him. He kissed her again, unassuming, gentle, and trailed his lips over her jaw and neck.

"Is it _all_ off limits?" he asked hoarsely, his hand running over her hips, to the edge of the nightie, lightly over her thighs and up again.

His kisses trailed to her chest and shoulder as he slowly moved downwards. Her hands fluttered into his hair and around his shoulders.

"What-?" she asked breathlessly.

He didn't answer her for a moment.

"I want to touch you, Jen," he said huskily, his words murmured against her skin. "If I just—use my mouth—?"

She titled her head back, acquiesced with a weak nod, and curled her toes.

* * *

><p>He would always view that weekend as a moment frozen in time, particularly since everything sort of crashed into a tense, confused action on Monday morning. Madeleine had her routine twisted right off the bat when she was told she wasn't going to work with Daddy, and she spent twenty minutes trying to decide if she was pissed at him, or if she was overjoyed that Mommy was still here.<p>

She settled for refusing to eat her oatmeal and demanding to know why she wasn't allowed to show Mommy to everyone.

Gibbs could already tell Jenny was somewhat startled by Madeleine's forceful nature and vibrant personality because it was—as he'd warned her—different from the demure toddler she'd had in Israel. Jenny sat with Madeleine at the table, speaking softly with her in Hebrew while Gibbs waited for Kate to arrive.

Oz started to bark at the sound of a car in the drive, and Gibbs grabbed his keys, badge, and gun. He walked over to the table as Kate was coming in.

"I'll be back later," he grunted. He bent over Madeleine. "Emmy, be sweet. Go easy on Mommy, okay?" he said, stern and kind at the same time. He kissed her cheek and then bent to press a kiss to Jenny's lips.

Madeleine chirped a hello to Kate, and Jenny flushed and jumped a little. She was still wearing her skimpy little nightie, but at least she'd pulled on a pair of his boxers before coming to breakfast with Madeleine.

"Morning, sweetie," Kate said uncertainly, looking awkwardly away from Gibbs' and Jenny's display of affection.

Madeleine gave Kate a smug look and started speaking in Hebrew. Kate grinned at her, and followed Gibbs to the door.

"When will you be back?"

"Meeting with Morrow shouldn't take long. Before Noon," he estimated. "I'll leave DiNozzo in charge so he shuts up with the questions a little bit."

"That's not gonna work, Gibbs," Kate said skeptically.

"I know," Gibbs retorted stubbornly. "Worth a try."

"And here?" Kate asked. "What's in my job description?"

"Just run damage control," he grunted, lowering his voice. "Jen's pretty beaten up. Don't let Madeleine roughhouse with her. Don't intervene unless it looks like Madeleine's controlling the situation or Jenny's upset," he instructed. He paused. "If Jen gets short with you, don't take it personally. This," he gestured between himself and Jenny. "This thing is difficult," he growled stiffly.

Kate nodded, and he felt a little better leaving. His trip to the Navy Yard was uneventful and surprisingly traffic free. He was coming in a little later than usual, so both McGee and DiNozzo were there when he arrived.

"Boss, no Maddie today?" asked McGee, seemingly disappointed.

"Kate's late," tattled DiNozzo immediately, throwing his hand out at Kate's empty desk.

Gibbs ignored both of them and stormed on up to the catwalk, taking only a moment to lean over the railing and yell.

"DiNozzo, you're in charge," before he barged through Charlene's office and directly into Morrow's.

He had evidently been wrong in assuming Morrow, since he knew Gibbs was coming in, would be alone.

Abby was sitting earnestly in a chair before the Director.

"Can you tell me who I offended with the jewelry, sir? I really didn't mean it, and I'd like to give him or her a huge apologetic hug…"

Morrow glanced up at Gibbs as he stormed in, and Abby turned away, greeting him brightly.

"I am afraid it's to remain confidential Miss Sciuto—now, I'm sorry to cut you off, but it seems Agent Gibbs is unable to wait," Morrow remarked, raising his brows irritably.

Abby sprang up, nodding and saluted the Director.

"I won't wear that necklace again, Sir!" she assured him, and then gave Gibbs the quickest hug of his life as she twirled out of the room.

Gibbs shut the door tightly behind her and marched over to Morrow's desk.

"What on earth is so urgent, Gibbs?" Morrow asked. "You call me in the middle of the night and ask for a meeting, give no inkling of what it is because your line isn't secure—I assure you, I haven't any information on Shepard, or I would have contacted you—"

"I've got her," Gibbs interrupted bluntly.

Morrow faltered and straightened up. His brows practically went into his hairline.

"You've _what_?"

"I've got her," Gibbs repeated. "I've got Agent Shepard."

"_Where_?" spluttered Morrow, standing up abruptly. "She's in the damn _bullpen_?" he asked.

"No," Gibbs said hastily, shaking his head. "Sir, I mean she's in the States. She's confirmed alive," he informed his boss, "and she's at my house."

Morrow stared at him, an absurd, stunned look on his face.

"Gibbs, don't tell me you took that sniper rifle and went to get her or something…" he started feebly.

Gibbs grinned, and shook his head.

"She showed up on my doorstep Saturday morning," he said, somewhat aggressively. "She was in bad shape, Sir."

Morrow drew himself up and put on a game face, nodding curtly.

"I need to speak with her," he asserted.

Gibbs shook his head.

"She's recovering," he growled. "Dr. Mallard's been to see her, and she's spending time with her daughter," he added. He straightened up himself. "You need to pull up Mossad and the Cairo office," he said frankly.

Morrow looked at him darkly, contemplating whether or not he would reprimand Gibbs for his rash actions. He decided against it, and instead began nodding, and sat back down. He picked up his phone and thought for a minute.

"Sit down, Gibbs," he ordered, gesturing to the chair Abby had vacated. "We have work to do."

* * *

><p>It turned out that Gibbs spent infinitely longer at NCIS working things out than he had anticipated, and when it was nearing five o'clock and he still wasn't home, Jenny was beginning to understand what he'd meant when he said it might be hard.<p>

For all intents and purposes, the day had gone incredibly well. Jenny had been successful in entertaining Madeleine, even if she sometimes had to put up with it putting a lot of strain on her physically, and Kate spent most of her time staying out of the way with case files at the kitchen table.

She had ventured over to play with Madeleine while Jenny was cooking macaroni and cheese, and when Madeleine had settled in front of the television—which Jenny was pleased to find out Jethro apparently didn't let her do—with her dinner and the latest episode of her favorite cartoon, Jenny collapsed exhausted on the couch. She rested her hand over her eyes and ignored Jethro's agent looking at her.

"There was obviously no need for me to be here," Kate piped up. "Madeleine's clearly comfortable with you."

Jenny lowered her hand, looked over at the woman neutrally, and tilted her head.

"Jethro is paranoid," she remarked.

Kate laughed shortly.

"Try working with him," she joked.

To which Jenny raised a thin eyebrow pointedly.

"I did," she said dryly.

Kate looked interested, and sat up, drawing her leg up on the couch.

"Did you?" she asked, intrigued. "You know, Maddie said something to that effect once, but Gibbs hushed her right off the bat."

Jenny snorted derisively.

"Our relationship isn't something we advertise freely, though on my side it's from a security standpoint. He is just," she paused while she searched for a word. "Protective. He likes to keep his personal life personal."

Kate shrugged.

"It's understandable," she remarked. "When did you work with him?"

Jenny studied her silently for a moment, and Kate felt chastised. But, Jenny answered her.

"In the nineties, in Europe," she said vaguely. "He was my partner. Superior."

Kate wrinkled her nose.

"_This_ is why DiNozzo is not allowed to know," she remarked dryly. "He'd never shut up about it, if he knew Gibbs broke Rule Twelve."

Jenny stifled a yawn and furrowed her brow.

"What does keeping an informant anonymous have to do with it?" she asked.

Kate furrowed her brow, just as confused.

"Rule twelve is never date a coworker," she corrected.

Jenny opened her eyes and arched an eyebrow.

"Right," she muttered. "That wasn't the rule when I worked for him, and I'd bet he wouldn't have wanted you to just tell me I was the new rule twelve," she told Kate smugly.

She stretched, wincing a little, and reached up to touch her head. Madeleine was much louder than she remembered, and her head was aching—on top of that, the injuries all over her seemed to be aching themselves.

"Madeleine, you're going to drop that fork on the floor," Jenny warned, and Madeleine gasped, snapping out of her absorption with the TV show to grab it.

"Love you, Mommy," she said automatically, and went back to the cartoon.

Jenny smiled, and Kate raised her brows again.

"Impressive," she murmured.

Jenny leaned forward.

"It's like riding a bike," she murmured. "The eyes in the back of your head never go away, once you have a baby," she snapped her fingers—and then she laughed to herself ironically, because it was something that, at one point in her life, she'd never have dreamed she'd ever say.

Kate rubbed her chin and looked towards the front door, waiting a moment and listening for Gibbs.

"Jenny," she asked after a moment, taking a deep, brave breath. "Can I ask you something?"

Jenny looked at her warily.

"What?" she asked bluntly.

Kate winced.

"This may seem—unacceptably personal," she began slowly, "but I want to hear your thoughts, I mean—how do you balance it? A career, and a baby? I've always wanted kids, but I love my job, and sometimes I just can't see how it mixes."

Jenny looked at her intently for a moment, and then let out a laugh of disbelief.

"Balance it?" she asked. "I don't balance it," she said simply.

Kate looked taken aback, and Jenny leaned forward, pointing to Madeleine.

"I haven't seen my only child in a _year_," she said intensely. "Before that, her father only saw her on holidays, and I passed her off to a nanny and a Montessori school most of the time. Her father called an _employee_ to sit with me in case _my_ daughter gets too upset and I don't know how to _handle_ it," Jenny explained. She shook her head. "This isn't balance. This is dysfunction. There are some women who do this beautifully, but I am not one of them. I am the wrong one to ask, Agent Todd," she said firmly.

Kate looked appropriately chastised when Jenny put it into perspective like that. She swallowed hard, her eyes drifting to Madeleine—a somewhat sad look on her face.

"Do you think it can be done?" Kate asked earnestly.

Jenny sighed.

"I think it depends on what kind of mother you want to be," she said hoarsely. She narrowed her eyes. "I don't know if it can be done if you work for Gibbs, and you know exactly what I'm talking about. There isn't one answer."

Kate nodded, letting her words sink in. Outside, Oz started barking, and a car door slammed. Both women turned their heads towards the door as Gibbs approached it, and Madeleine suddenly leapt up and bounded over to Jenny.

"Hold, please," she said, handing her bowl of pasta to Jenny. Jenny accepted it, and the moment Gibbs stepped inside, Madeleine was in his arms hugging him.

He grinned and kissed her, greeting her as if it were a normal day, and Kate watched Jenny watch them.

The redhead sighed and looked at Agent Todd.

"In Israel, she hardly recognized him when he came," she said softly, "and he told me all he wanted was for her to run to him when he walked in the door."

Jenny clamped her mouth shut and ran her hand through her hair, turning towards the door and folding her arms. She rested her head on the pillow her elbows made and watched Gibbs and Madeleine, struggling with the bittersweet feeling that overcame her when she realized his getting what he wanted meant she had missed out on so much.

* * *

><p>"What's the verdict?" Jenny asked.<p>

She and Madeleine were both cross-legged on the boat, taking turns playing a gentle game of fetch. Gibbs leaned in, taking a break from sanding. He'd been waiting for her to ask, and he was glad she finally did.

"You worried about how long I was gone?" he drawled.

She smiled a little.

"The length of time it took you to settle it didn't soothe me," she answered diplomatically. Her smile faltered. "Did he know my team was gone?" she asked, skirting the use of the word dead in front of Madeleine.

"He'd heard unconfirmed reports," Gibbs said heavily. "He dispatched Pacci and Balboa to inform Holland and Fitzgerald's families."

Jenny's face fell. She shook her head, unable to muster even a half-hearted smile when Madeleine giggled and handed her Oz's toy for her turn. She threw it towards a safe part of the basement and sighed heavily.

"They were good men," she said tiredly. "Good men. Even if they spent half their time hating me," she remembered fondly.

"Nah, how could anyone hate you?" Gibbs asked, deadpan.

"Shut-up," muttered Jenny, rolling her eyes. She took Oz's toy from him when he returned, and handed it to Madeleine with a smile. Oz wagged his tail happily, overjoyed to be played with and attended to by so many people.

Gibbs cleared his throat.

"Morrow and I made contact with Mossad and your people in Cairo to sort out the pieces of things. Mossad reckons you're clear in the Middle East since, ah, Ziva _decimated_ the ones who were keeping you in Cairo," he explained. "Morrow wants to see you Thursday morning, before hours."

"And Ziva?" Jenny asked earnestly, giving only a slight nod to indicate she'd heard about the meeting.

"She made it back to Tel Aviv, but she's on lockdown," Gibbs answered wryly. "Daddy David's pretty mad she ignored his commands."

Jenny looked smug.

"Morrow still wants you to recoup for a minute," Gibbs said slowly. "He's given you a week's leave here."

"A week?" Jenny repeated weakly. "A week—it's more," she paused. "It's more than I could have asked for," she admitted. She'd been dreading his return all day, positive she'd be ordered back to Cairo on the next flight.

"Agent Callen is monitoring the area to make sure things have died down," muttered Gibbs.

"Here, you throw it, Daddy," Madeleine interrupted, handing up the rawhide.

He obeyed her with a smile and a wrinkled nose, and Oz bounded after the toy. Madeleine twisted and followed him with her eyes, so content and easily entertained. Gibbs stepped closer to Jenny, his jaw tight suddenly.

"You know what happened in Tunisia?" he asked curtly.

She turned her eyes away from his. She said nothing.

"You know he gave you up, Jen," Gibbs said tensely.

She finally looked back at him.

"Mossad is different than us," she said mechanically. "Things are greyer over there. He thought I'd be extracted by my people."

Gibbs clenched his fists.

"Ziva came to get you," he reminded her. "She knew he'd crossed the line."

"What we accomplished in the Middle East is invaluable," Jenny said quietly. "Some would say the suffering was worth it."

Gibbs moved even closer, reaching out to touch her black eye, the bite marks on her brow. His fingers were gentle again, protective, a touch she'd gotten so used to in the past seventy-two hours.

"Not to me," he growled. "What if we'd lost you, Jen?"

She reached out and touched his wrist.

"Don't 'what if,'" she said hoarsely. "Please. Just be grateful."

"How can you justify—" Gibbs started, but Jenny shook her head acutely and cut him off.

Madeleine crawled into her lap suddenly and yawned.

"Mommy," she said. "You can read Harry Potter to me for real tonight," she said earnestly, beaming at her. "And stay until I fall asleep again?"

"Yes," Jenny answered automatically.

"And will you be with Daddy again when I wake him up?"

"Yes," Jenny said, hunching over and hugging Madeleine tightly. "I'll be snuggled up tight right next to him, waiting to see your little face first thing."

"Tomorrow I have ice skating," Madeleine whispered. "Will you come watch?"

"I'll do anything you want, Madeleine," Jenny whispered back sweetly. "I'm all yours for a whole week."

She read Harry Potter to Madeleine that night, and when she fell asleep scrunched up Madeleine's little bed, Gibbs didn't mind that he was sleeping alone. He just kissed them both on the forehead and slipped out, looking forward to the week.

* * *

><p>On Thursday morning, DiNozzo slammed his stuff down at his desk and pointed angrily with both hands at Gibbs' desk.<p>

"Where the _hell_ is he?" he demanded loudly.

He glared around at his colleagues.

"I thought we were past the random disappearances!"

"Tired of being in charge, DiNozzo?" Kate asked, puckering her lips mockingly.

"No!" retorted DiNozzo defiantly. "I just—hey, maybe I want an out-of-the-blue vacation," he groused.

"Gibbs isn't on vacation," Kate admonished. "He had to deal with a family thing."

"Yeah, that he told you about," DiNozzo retorted accusingly. "And left the rest of us in the dark."

Kate shrugged and went back to her work.

"Abby knows some of it," McGee piped up.

"How's that goin', McGee?" snapped DiNozzo. "You're in a relationship with our resident Goth, and she knows all Gibbs' secrets and won't tell you anything?"

"I mind my own business," said McGee.

Tony rolled his eyes dramatically.

"I'm an investigator," he said, preening. "It's my job to—_hey_," he broke off suddenly, his eyes glued to the catwalk above them. He pointed—obviously, and rather rudely. "_Who_ is _that_?"

The other two turned to follow his gesture, and they all caught sight of the redhead talking with Ducky as she headed down the catwalk to the elevator.

"Ex wife of Gibbs'?" joked McGee.

"Good one, McComedian," DiNozzo chuckled. He shook his head. "Nah, looks too cozy with Ducky. Too young, too," he added. "Never seen her before," he added, climbing up on his desk and squinting.

"DiNozzo!" hissed Kate, well aware that the woman with Ducky was Jenny Shepard. "Get off your desk!"

"Think she's a new agent?" DiNozzo asked. A wicked grin spread over his face. "Hey, what do you think would happen if we got her on our team, and we had to watch Gibbs squirm while he worked in close quarters with a hottie like that?"

"I highly doubt that's going to happen," Kate said dryly. She pelted her stapler at DiNozzo and caught him in the stomach. He let out a groan and doubled over, hopping off his desk.

"Take it easy, _Katie_," DiNozzo growled. "I'll head-slap you," he threatened.

He glanced back up, but Ducky and the redhead had disappeared into the elevator—and they didn't appear on the bullpen level, so his hopes of exploring further were dashed. DiNozzo collapsed into his chair sullenly and glared at Gibbs' desk.

He hadn't realized how much Madeleine Mondays made his week until he was deprived of a Maddie Monday, and on top of that, this whole constantly being in charge thing sucked and made being a badass federal agent much less sexy and much more work. He wanted Gibbs back—and he really wanted to know everything was okay with his favorite little mini Gibbs.

"Hey, what are we doing today?" DiNozzo asked blithely, glancing around.

"DiNozzo," groaned Kate. "_You're supposed to be in charge."_

* * *

><p>Jenny collapsed against his chest, her breathing coming in quick, shallow, satisfied gasps. He groaned appreciatively and kissed her shoulder admiringly, running his hands through her hair in a lazy, sated manner. He couldn't find the words to tell her how glad he was that she'd felt well and comfortable enough for this kind of sorely missed intimacy.<p>

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders even tighter, intent on refusing to let her move, and he felt her smile. She lifted her head and rested her elbow gently on his chest, pushing her hair back. Her fingers stumbled into his in the red locks and she laughed, biting her lip and then lowering her mouth to his for a long, post-coital kiss.

"Mmm," she murmured. "I told you I missed you, right?"

He shrugged casually.

"Might have to tell me again," he drawled. She laughed, and he went on, "Or show me." She laughed even louder, looking happier and more at ease than he'd seen her yet this week. What was better, she didn't wince when she moved so much anymore.

She had alternated between being involved and absorbed in Madeleine and feeling ostracized and out of the loop since Monday. He did his best to make her feel good, because he knew exactly how she felt—and he thought it was going well. He was already dreading letting her go on Monday, but he refused to think about that now, not with the whole weekend ahead of them.

Jenny lay comfortably on his chest again, all but refusing to move off of him, and that he was perfectly content with. She languidly kissed his chest and his throat, spending quite a bit of her time attending to him in the afterglow, and then she finally gave him an apologetic look and rolled away. She pulled covers around her, shivering a little. He turned towards her and gave her a sly look.

"No," he drawled, pulling the covers back and sitting up. He shook his head. "Got a new rule for you," he added, getting up and grabbing her nightie off the floor. He threw it to her and raised his brow, picking up his own boxers. "We've got to put 'em back on now," he revealed.

She gave a pitiful whine, a sad look on her face.

"Why the hell?" she asked.

"Sacrifices of having a kid," he answered, pulling the boxers back on and jumping back in bed as she shifted up and slowly pulled the nightie over her head. "You can't sleep naked after sex in case they come barging in."

Jenny whined into the material of her nightie and shimmied into it, dramatically throwing herself back next to him and meeting his eyes with a sigh.

"Damn Madeleine," she murmured good-naturedly.

"Damn Madeleine," he agreed fondly, leaning over and kissing her again.

She pulled the covers around them and tangled their legs up, cuddling close. He hadn't ever spent so many nights sleeping literally wrapped around Jen, but she seemed to be highly in favor of the idea lately. Not doubt it had something to do with the hell she'd been through in Cairo.

"Mmm," she murmured, her lips brushing his neck. "I'm never going back," she decided.

He laughed—if only.

Her meeting with Morrow this morning—early this morning—had gone well. She was set up to return to Cairo early Monday. She had to take care of a slew of housekeeping problems and get things in order. The only upside he could see was her near-certain assurance that she was going to be allowed much more flexibility with visits within six months. According to her, it had been in the works for her to possibly transfer stateside if she was successful in her work in Cairo—and she had been.

"But don't say anything to Madeleine, yet," Jenny had pleaded earnestly, and of course, Gibbs wasn't going to.

He didn't even want to get his own hopes up.

"She's a beautiful ice skater," Jenny murmured lazily. "She's like a little ice ballerina. It's stunning to watch. The way she just gets up when she falls," she remarked. "It's beautiful," she repeated.

She had been to both of Madeleine's lessons this week.

"So beautiful I can forgive her for talking about _Mrs. Diane_ as much as she does," Jenny added, poking him rudely.

Gibbs managed a sheepish look, and Jenny laughed.

"How much does it pain you that she sucks at baseball?"

"Hey," growled Gibbs. "She can hit the ball now!" he defended.

"Yeah, but they put her on third base in the practice I saw, and she made a daisy chain. The ball rolled right past her."

"I got to wear that daisy crown," Gibbs retorted proudly.

"Mmhmm," murmured Jenny, looking up at him smugly. "And you rocked it."

He knew she was making fun of him, but he ignored it. He stole another kiss from her and pulled her closer, itching to pull her under him. He knew she couldn't take his weight, and he was still careful to let her take the lead, but he couldn't resist her at the moment. Jesus, a year was a long time.

Jenny's fingers laced into the dog tag necklace at his chest and she held it tightly, opening her palm and reading it again.

_Daddy._

This time, she did ask.

"What is this?" she ventured. "Did Madeleine give it to you?"

Gibbs took it from her gently and ran his hand over the inscription. He shook his head.

"Oz dug up an old lunchbox of Kelly's in the garden," he said gruffly. He swallowed, and then continued: "Time capsule she'd buried. These were in it—the other has her name on it. Gave 'em to her when she was four."

Jenny smiled sadly, touching the tag again. She took a deep breath, her lips shaking, and pressed her forehead into his shoulder.

"It's sweet," she murmured hoarsely. "Sweet that you wear it," she paused and licked her lips. "You should wear Kelly's, too," she encouraged suddenly. "You know. Keep her close." She pressed her palm against his chest.

Gibbs thought about it, looking at the tag in his palm. Jenny yawned and shifted closer to him, trailing her lips all over his chest again—she was tired, but she was pretty sure she wanted him again, anyway—

* * *

><p>He woke up abruptly in the middle of the night, and Jenny was gone. The bed was still warm, so he figured her leaving must have woken him up even if he didn't remember it. He rubbed his eyes, checked the clock, and got up immediately. His instincts told him she was checking on Madeleine, and he was right.<p>

He found her standing in her open doorway, one hand on the doorknob, leaning against the frame. He blinked, willing his eyes to adjust, and noted that her face was drawn and white and her eyes were red. He reached out silently and rested his hands on her shoulders, glancing into the room.

Madeleine was asleep on her back, spread-eagled on the bed. Oz was on the floor, thumping his tale slightly. He raised his head when Gibbs appeared, looked at them for a moment, and lay back down, unconcerned.

Jenny took a deep breath.

"Nightmare," she said hoarsely. "Madeleine," she said, but her voice caught. She stopped and swallowed. She closed her eyes. "They had—Madeline. Instead of me. In Cairo. And she was screaming."

He knew nothing he could say would chase the image or the terrifying residue of the nightmare from her mind—nothing he could say, except—

He stepped closer and pinned her gently against the doorway, turning her towards him. He rested his palms on her neck and touched his forehead to hers, his fingertips brushing into the hair at the nape of her neck.

"Jen," he growled huskily. "I love you."

She pressed her lips together, her eyes opening, lashes fluttering. The colour flamed back into her cheeks, and the lines of worry and anxiety faded from her cheeks and eyes. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and then changed her mind, and slipped them around his neck, to the back of his head.

"I _know_, Jethro," she said hoarsely, pressing her lips to his. She murmured against them: "I love you."

* * *

><p>Gibbs watched appreciatively as Jenny tied her hair up. She was sitting on the back porch swing watching Madeleine play with Oz and the daisies in the backyard, and every time her hands slid back through her smooth red locks, Gibbs was given a particularly flattering view of her cleavage. The green tank top she wore was clearly from a time in her life before she'd had a baby, and even though she was conscious of the way she was nearly spilling out of it, he was enjoying it.<p>

"Stop ogling me, you animal," she said mildly. "Respect me like you want your daughter respected."

He made a face at Jenny and messed with the steaks on the grill.

"You're ruining it," he remarked dryly.

She sighed and glanced down at her shirt hopelessly.

"Somewhere, Noemi thinks this is funny," she groused.

Oz sat down by the swing and barked at her. She glared at him; he wagged his tail and licked her hand.

"I hate this dog," she said distastefully.

"Mommy," Madeleine said, running up to her with an arm full of daisies. "Oz keeps me safe, please love him," she said, and tossed the flowers all over Jen. Jenny giggled and reached down to hoist Madeleine up onto her lap, snuggling her tightly and loving on her copiously.

"Hey, little princess, you know I can braid these into your hair," she offered.

"Oh, you can?" asked Madeleine excitedly. "Please! I will be pretty!"

Jenny touched her nose to Madeleine's.

"You're already pretty, ahuva," she murmured, and then twirled her finger to indicate Madeleine should turn around. "Sit still for Ima, and I'll make you a fabulous little coif."

Madeleine giggled and made a show of sitting spectacularly still. She picked up one spare daisy and asked loudly:

"Does Daddy love Mommy?"

She proceeded to pluck at the petals like she'd seen in _The Little Mermaid_.

"He loves her—he loves her not—he loves her…" she trailed off, amusing herself while Jenny worked on her hair with nimble fingers, and Gibbs didn't miss the glowing smile on Jenny's lips.

He idly watched his steaks grill, suffering the sweltering heat to make sure he gave Jenny a damn good home-cooked meal before she went back to Egypt. He'd spent this morning dealing with a crisis at work—even though he'd demanded DiNozzo take care of it, DiNozzo had apparently had some sort of over-worked meltdown and called Gibbs on a Saturday in near tears. It had been a long time since DiNozzo had actually lost it, so Gibbs grudgingly went in. It turned out DiNozzo was just scared of confronting the DEA about a jurisdiction issue, but while Gibbs was gone, Abby had taken it upon herself to sneak to his house and officially introduce herself to Jenny.

He'd come back to find Abby regaling Jenny with a thousand stories about Gibbs with princess crowns, painted nails, and all sorts of other shenanigans he'd gotten into while Jenny was in Egypt. He wasn't so much pissed at Abby as apprehensive that Jenny wouldn't like it, but she had enjoyed the visit.

It was just them again now, and it was their last real day together.

"Ima," Madeleine said. "You know, I didn't mean to, but I broke Tali's necklace playing," she explained conversationally. "Daddy fixed it, but it was bad luck. But he said you got hurt a little in Egypt. So did Daddy fix your hurt when he fixed the necklace?"

Gibbs turned to watch Jenny answer.

"Hmm," Jenny murmured. "Well, I didn't get hurt because you broke that, you understand?" She said earnestly. "Your dad helped me feel better," she added, pausing in her braiding, "but you fixed me, Madeleine."

Madeleine beamed and clasped her hands, looking pleased.

Gibbs smirked, and after sharing a quick smile with Jen, went into the house to get the camera. He snuck back out with it and managed to get a few of Jen braiding Madeleine's hair before she cottoned on.

"Cut it out, Jethro," she growled. "I know you just want a permanent memory of this shirt," she added slyly. For good measure, she pulled sunglasses down over her nose and refused to look over at him, though Madeleine turned and smiled happily for the camera.

She put a daisy in her mouth like a dancer and circled he hands over her head.

"You little diva," giggled Jenny, leaning forward and kissing Madeleine's hair.

"I get to move classes in two weeks," Madeleine said happily. "In skating. I get to be with Kindergarteners. I'm super big now."

Jenny sucked in her breath and let it out slowly.

"I know, Madeleine," she murmured. "You're getting big too fast."

"I'll stay little for you, Mommy," Madeleine promised solemnly.

Jenny laughed again. She gave her an awkward hug so she wouldn't lose her place braiding, and then glanced over at Jethro.

"Where are you enrolling her in Kindergarten?" she asked.

He frowned, pushing the camera aside suddenly. He shrugged.

"She's zoned for Little Ridge," he said automatically. "It's a good school."

"How do you know?"

"Kelly went there," he said bluntly. "Shannon wanted this house because of it."

Jenny bit her lip, looking chastised. She hesitated and looked away, then looked back.

"I want her to go to private school," she said firmly. "There's a fantastic place in Georgetown, it's Catholic, but she doesn't have to practice—"

"Jen," he interrupted tensely. "I don't like the idea of private schools."

"What do you have against a good education?" Jenny retorted.

"Nothing," he said calmly. "Private schools are expensive—"

"I can afford it," Jenny said.

"'M not worried about affording it," Gibbs said tensely. "I'm worried about pressure and her getting' socialized by normal people."

Jenny glared at him.

"Private school kids aren't abnormal," she defended, nettled.

"You went to private school," Gibbs guessed.

"From high school on," she answered. "And you went to public."

"I did fine," he noted. "Look, Jen, those places charge a hell of a lot to pressure kids at a young age. Madeleine may not like school, and it's stupid to pay that much to force her to go somewhere that she might hate."

"She needs a good foundation so she can get to college—"

"Well, she may not want to _go_ to college, Jen—"

"Leroy _Jethro_ Gibbs, our daughter is going to college!"

"_Jenny_," he placated seriously, raising his voice in a mild way. "She may not be like you. She may not want to go to a school where academics are shoved down her throat until she chokes. I'm just sayin' I want her in public school until she's old enough to tell us what she wants. She's a kid, and I want her to be a _kid_."

Jenny frowned. She clearly hadn't expected to be challenged on the concept of Madeleine's education, yet she felt she wasn't in a good place to make the executive decision. At this point, Jethro knew Madeleine better than she did, and even if she couldn't shake the little part of her that wanted Madeleine in the most elite schools possible, she could concede Jethro his point. Private schools were getting harsher and harsher on children, and she didn't want to set Madeleine up for horrible stress or anything like that.

She turned to Madeleine and tilted her head at her.

"Where do you want to go to school, Madeleine?" she asked lightly.

Madeleine cocked her head comically.

"Hogwarts."

Jenny giggled, relaxing a little.

"Hmm, me too," she agreed seriously.

She sighed and looked over at Gibbs.

"It's your call," she decided. "That preschool you've got her in is brilliant, so you've obviously got a knack. She's sharp as a tack."

Jenny leaned back and did some tricky maneuver to tie Madeleine's hair in place with a flower stem.

"You're all done, beauty."

"Daddy! Am I pretty?"

"So pretty I'm blind," he answered completely seriously.

"Daddy, you're dumb," giggled Madeleine.

Jenny laughed loudly and snatched her close again, picking up a flower and tucking it behind her own ear—and Gibbs was quick to snatch up the camera and aim it at them. This time, Jenny looked up, and he captured her smiling at him, and Madeleine smiling up at her.

* * *

><p>Bedtime crept around, and they settled down with Madeleine to remind her that Mommy was leaving tomorrow.<p>

Madeleine stared up at them from her bed, and then bolted upright, looking panicked.

"Are you taking me?" she demanded, her eyes wide on Jenny. "Are you taking me?"

"No—" Jenny began apologetically.

"I don't want to go," Madeleine whimpered, bursting into tears. "I want to stay! I want to stay with Daddy!" she scrambled over to him and threw herself against his chest desperately. "I'm sorry, Mommy, I want to stay!" she pleaded. "You stay here! I don't want to go!"

"Madeleine!" Gibbs said loudly, breaking into her crying. "Emmy-Jane," he soothed, catching her eye. He shook his head. "Mommy isn't taking you away from me. She's going back to work."

Madeleine whimpered and stared up at him.

"I don't want to go to Cairo, no Cairo, no Israel. _Here_," she turned on Jenny, her eyes red and wide suddenly. "Mommy, don't go. Don't go, just stay here. Just stay here. You were joking, you won't leave!" she said hopefully.

Jenny bit her lip and leaned forward, reaching out to Madeleine.

"I have to go back," she said quietly. "I hate to go, ahuva, I'll miss you so much. You know how much I miss you."

Madeleine stared at her. She stood up in Gibbs lap and glared at her angrily, tears spilling down her four-year-old face.

"I don't like it!" she shouted. "You miss me, but you don't stay!" she shrieked. "You miss me, but you made me leave!"

Jenny drew back, her face pale. Gibbs grabbed Madeleine and stood up with her sternly. She kicked at him and glared at Jenny still, her face tear-stained. There were still daisies strewn in her hair.

"Go away, Mommy! You make me sad!" she snarled.

"Madeleine Jane Gibbs, do not _ever_ speak to your mother that way," Gibbs snapped suddenly, his voice dangerous. "Do you hear me? Apologize _now_."

"I—don't—WANT—HER—TO—GO!" screamed Madeleine, dissolving into hysterics.

Gibbs shifted her into a cradle in his arms and tried to hush her, but she just continued to throw a tantrum similar to what she'd used to do when she was a toddler. After a year, it seemed, she'd entertained the thought that Jenny was back for good—and though they'd told her Mommy was leaving again, it apparently hadn't clicked. If it broke Gibbs' heart to hold her while she was crying like this, he could only imagine how Jenny was feeling.

"Come here, Jenny," Gibbs said curtly.

"She's not happy with me," Jenny said timidly.

"Dammit, get over here," he snapped, shocking her with his anger. "She wants you, she's just scared. She needs you to tell her it's okay. Comfort her," he ordered.

Jenny stood up and came over, stepping up to him and reaching into his arms to take Madeleine. She fought, but the moment Jenny had a good hold on her, she clung to Jenny like there was no tomorrow and started sobbing into her shoulder.

"Mommy," she cried, and started crying in Hebrew.

"I know," Jenny soothed, whispering in the language in Madeleine's ear. "I've got you baby. I've got you."

She was still struggling with the shock of Madeleine freaking out because she thought she was being taken away from her father, and almost immediately after, the pain of being accused so hurtfully by her four-year-old.

"Don't go. Mommy, don't go," Madeleine moaned.

"You'll see me again," Jenny assured her. "Oh, sweetheart. Honey, it's hard right now, but it'll get better in a few days. You're so strong, you'll forget about me."

"No, no, no. Mommy, no."

Jenny finally just turned her head into Madeleine's hair and held onto her until she tired herself out crying, and then she sat helplessly down on the child's bed and waited for Gibbs to join her. Madeleine rubbed her eyes and pulled gently on her mother's hair, willing her not to go. Gibbs rested his hand on Madeleine's head.

"She'll be back, Emmy," he soothed. "You know that. Whenever I had to leave in Israel, didn't I always come back?"

Madeleine looked at him and nodded forlornly. She pulled back and hiccupped, staring at Jenny. For a moment, Jenny thought she was going to start screaming again, but instead her lips just trembled, and she touched Jenny's face.

"You finish Harry Potter," she said pitifully. "You finish it to me," she pleaded.

Jenny nodded earnestly.

She shifted around, settling back into the bed with Madeleine, and Gibbs got her the book. He sat down on the floor to watch them read, and once he was sure there was no chance of Madeleine losing it again, he slipped out to let them have some final alone time. He lingered in the basement for a while, and then wandered back to bed. He checked in on them, and found Jenny wide-awake next to Madeleine. She looked at him in the dark, and he left them alone, retreating to his room, unsure whether or not to expect her.

Jenny couldn't seem to decide if she wanted to be with Madeleine or him on her last night, but finally, she slipped into the master bedroom. It was two in the morning, and her flight was in four hours, but she crawled under the sheets with him and locked her lips onto his—he could taste how upset she was, and refrained from speaking, instead falling into the familiar routine of a long, silent goodbye.

* * *

><p>And then they were in an airport again, saying goodbye.<p>

Madeleine was half-asleep and still in her pajamas. She laid her head heavily on Gibbs' shoulder while Jenny lingered in taking leave, waiting until the last call for her flight to board. She had nothing with her but the clothes on her back—she was in Ziva's cast-offs again. Her face was clean, her hair brushed, and her expression strong.

Her black eye was so faded now, it was almost invisible, and the teeth marks on her brow were no longer prominent.

She reached out and stroked Madeleine's hair. She touched the Star of David at her daughter's neck and leaned forward to kiss her goodbye again.

"Jethro," Jenny said quietly, her voice husky. "I haven't—I've never," she paused, and took a deep breath. "I've never given you the credit you deserve. Every time you came to Israel, she had to adjust to you again. Every time you left, you felt like this. And I was selfish when I got angry at you for demanding to know what choices I was going to make in my career," she faltered. "I have not understood, really understood, your point of view until this week."

She looked up at him and touched his cheek.

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely, her voice cracking, but her eyes standing firm. "I have been immeasurably unfair to you in the past."

He swallowed, at a loss for words. He put his hand on Madeleine's hair, over her ears a little, and a look crossed Jenny's face that was concerned, because she didn't understand why he'd block Madeleine's hearing.

"I wasn't fair to you, either," he admitted gruffly. He paused, struggling with his words. "You had her because of me," he said slowly. "I know you don't regret it," he placated when he saw the look on her face. "I know you love 'er," he said. "I know you—at least, in some way—kept her because you were scared of what I'd do if you chose the other thing. I've always known that, Jen," he said gently.

She swallowed hard, looking stricken—because she'd never told him that. She hadn't even thought about that in _years, _not since one very bad week when Madeleine was an infant, and she'd resented her conscience and Jethro for resulting in her decision tell him about and to have the baby.

He looked at her intently.

"What are you saying, Jethro?"

"I'm tellin' you not to apologize," he said gruffly. "You know damn well that's what I'm saying."

He removed his hand from Madeleine's head. Jenny's flight was called again. She looked stressed and bent to give Madeleine yet _another_ kiss and a squeeze goodbye. She was going back to Cairo, but for the first time at one of these partings, she felt like there was no resentment or unclear air between herself and Jethro.

She reached up and took his face in her hands, giving him a long, soft goodbye kiss.

"You never have to say it again," she said quietly, her lips brushing his.

He knew what she meant. His forehead wrinkled against hers.

"Yeah, you know," he muttered gruffly. "It gets easier after the first time."

He kissed her and mumbled it against her lips—_I love you Jen_.

She broke away and had to run to catch her flight, but she wasn't crying when she left, and that was a load off his shoulders.

Madeleine waved at her longingly.

"Last time, Daddy," she mumbled sleepily, her little voice stern. "Last time. Next time, Daddy, you make her stay."

* * *

><p><strong>End: June, 2005<strong>

_-Not that anything, dialogue or plot, that is familiar is taken directly from the Season 1 Finale Episode Reveille. On a related note, I struggled for a while with whether or not I was going to look in the time capsule. I know the contents have always been available on the internet, but since Gibbs never looked in it, I never looked it up. I decided to have him open it here because of Madeleine, and so I looked up the contents. Everything I listed is true to the spoilers released as to what was in it. _

_-Alexandra  
>feedback appreciated! <em>


	14. Araba-esrah

_A/N: There is one chapter after this. This one was difficult to write, and the next one will be harder, but both are incredibly satisfying to do. I hope I've done this justice. _

_Note: timeline has been adjusted, as with other things in this story. _

* * *

><p><em><strong>Fourteen<strong>_

_**August 2005**_

Gibbs watched Madeleine as she swung her feet back and forth, looking up at him with attentive, wide green eyes. She bit her lip uncertainly and tilted her head back and forth. He smiled calmly, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. He folded his arms and looked across the road to her new elementary school.

"You think you're gettin' old, Madeleine?" he asked lazily. "Hmpfh, think of _me_."

"You're not old, Daddy," Madeleine giggled softly.

"Sure feel old," he retorted. He looked back down at her. "Look at you, you're a big girl, goin' off to Kindergarten, leavin' me behind. I'm the one who should be scared," he said matter-of-factly.

"Don't be scared, Daddy."

"Well, I wouldn't be, if you weren't."

"I'm not!" Madeleine piped up, drawing herself up.

She stopped kicking her feet and gave him a proud look. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she hunkered down sheepishly, wrinkling her nose. She had started dragging her feet a little as they walked up to the school and Gibbs, sensing she was anxious, had stopped so they could sit on the park bench across the street and right before the crosswalk.

She had been excited to start school since her fifth birthday in August, but Gibbs had the inkling that the big deal everyone was making over it had started to get to her. Particularly when DiNozzo, meaning well of course, had picked her up on her last Monday at NCIS, hugged her, and said, 'Kindergarten, huh? It's all downhill from there.'

"I'm not scared," Madeleine repeated slowly, scrambling to change her mind. "I'm worried 'bout you!"

"Me," Gibbs pointed to himself. He looked humble. "But it's my job to worry about you!"

"But you just said you're scared!" Madeleine retorted. "And now, your Mondays will be lonely."

"I guess I got Pony and Kate, and McGee and Abby," Gibbs said slowly.

Madeleine gave him a look, and he snorted, amused at her silently calling him out. He leaned towards his daughter and bent down some, lowering his voice.

"I'll be okay," he confided. "You got it good here, honey. Kindergarten has colouring books and recess and all kinds of stuff," he explained.

"But I have to go every day," Madeleine said forlornly.

She was a bit agitated about the change in schedule Kindergarten would mean. She no longer had her day at NCIS or her day with Noemi; instead she was in school from nine in the morning until two-thirty in the afternoon. Noemi would pick her up and care for her until Gibbs got home. She'd had to move ice skating lessons to a different time and go down to one day with her little league t-ball team, and she'd had to say goodbye to Hannah and Evelyn, whose mothers were putting them in private schools.

Her Jewish friend Delia, though, was attending the same elementary school, and they were fortunately in the same class.

"You'll be like me and Mommy," Gibbs encouraged her. "We go to work every day, but you get Kindergarten. Much more fun."

Madeleine pointed to the school.

"Ima's okay with this _place_?" she asked suspiciously.

Gibbs laughed.

"Sure, Emmy, she just wishes she was here to see you off," he placated. "That's why we took all the pictures."

Madeleine smoothed out her clothing and hugged the new lunchbox in her lap.

"And why I got new things," she added.

Gibbs nodded, and then he reached over and nudged her gently, brushing imagined particles of dog hair off her clothing and looking over her for a minute before he broke his silence.

"Remember when you were this big?" he asked, gesturing with his hands to show her.

She giggled and tossed her head.

"No, silly!"

"You were," he insisted, and made a cradle. "Used to hold you like this and put your head right here," he indicated his elbow. "Your eyes were blue then, like mine," he added.

She put her hands near her eyes and brushed at her lashes.

"Oh, no," she sighed, eyes wide. "Now they are green like Mommy. I'm sorry they changed."

"Don't be," Gibbs said mildly. "I like your mom's eyes."

"Maybe 'cause Mommy stares at you lots, even though it's rude to stare."

Gibbs put his arm around Madeleine and gave her a sly look. He widened his eyes and stared at her quietly, until she squealed and hid her face. He leaned in closer and pressed a kiss to her cheek, nudging her face with his nose playfully.

"S'not rude to stare if you love someone," he told her wryly.

Madeleine crinkled her nose.

"That's why Timmy stares at Abby," she whispered conspiratorially.

"Hmm," Gibbs grunted narrowly. He ignored the comment and looked over at the school. He raised his brows. "You about ready to go in?" he asked. "Wouldn't want Delia to get scared without you."

Madeleine sat forward, straightening up, and then hesitated.

"Wait," she said, holding out her hands. She hopped up and turned around, putting her palms on Gibbs' knees. "Daddy," she said seriously. "Is Oz okay with this?"

"Emmy, I promise you, the dog is fine with Kindergarten."

"And Mommy too?"

"Yes, missy."

"Okay," Madeleine said. She nodded to herself. "And you will be okay without me?"

Gibbs leaned forward on his knees.

"Well," he sighed heavily, putting on a long face. "I'll miss you lots," he said sincerely. "But I can handle it."

Madeleine slipped her hand into his and tugged a little.

"We can go," she announced.

He stood up and made a huge show of looking both ways at the crosswalk before they safely crossed the street and walked up the way to the school. They weren't the only two on their way to the first day of Kindergarten, but Gibbs didn't miss that he was the only father there. Some families had mother and father present, but if there was only one, it was consistently the mother.

"Daddy, do you think Mommy is scared that I am in Kindergarten?"

"I don't think your mommy ever gets scared," Gibbs said seriously, arching his brows importantly down at Madeleine. "She probably can't believe you got big so fast, Emmy," he explained. "Time went by fast for her. She remembers when you were a little baby."

"And I lived in Israel, and she took care of me all alone."

"Mmhmm, and on the day you were born, she slept in your room with her hand on your heart because she wanted to protect you forever."

"How do you know?"

"I was there," Gibbs answered, as they turned down a hallway.

"You were? I don't remember that!"

"Well, you were teeny," he retorted pointedly. "'Course I was there. I held you for the first time when you were six hours old."

Madeleine held up her fingers.

"I'm five now," she said. "And too old to be held," she added.

He nodded—that was the rule. Her fifth birthday, he'd told her, meant she was too old to be carried most places, and she was going to walk by herself. He knew in the back of his mind that he'd still carry her if she was tired, or if it was safer, but he wanted her to know there was no more being carted around like a spoiled princess. She was more than capable of standing on her own two feet.

Madeleine sighed and swung their hands back and forth, twirling her lunchbox in her other hand.

"And then Mommy sent me here, so I wouldn't get hurt like Tali," she mused. "But Mommy won't come here and be safe. That's scary," Madeleine said matter-of-factly.

Gibbs halted her outside of an open doorway where parents were milling around, and Madeleine looked up at him, narrowing her eyes.

"You won't let Mommy get hurt, right?"

He crouched down and put his hands on her shoulders.

"Not on your life, kid," he agreed, and placed a kiss on her forehead.

She beamed, and hoisted up her lunchbox, holding it close.

"Do you think the other kids will tease me 'cause of the Star Wars cookies?"

Noemi had used the cookie cutters McGee had gotten Madeleine for Christmas to make her a special batch for her first day. She'd also cut Madeleine's sandwich into perfect triangles and left a note in the container of grapes.

"Nah, they won't," Gibbs said. "What do you do if someone teases you, anyway?" he asked wisely.

"Ignore them, and don't tease anyone else," Madeleine recited.

"Good girl. What are the rules for Kindergarten?" he prompted.

"Speak English, don't tell anyone Daddy has a gun, and be polite to everyone."

He nodded. He'd had to slip the middle one in there because at one point on the playground at daycare this summer, Madeleine had evidently gotten angry at a boy who stole the Frisbee she was playing with and shouted at him that her daddy had a gun. Gibbs had talked to her harshly about it and had to explain his position to the other boy's parents and her teachers, but it had been an annoying, unpleasant incident and he didn't want to go through it again.

"I'll be here to pick you up today," Gibbs said, "but every other day it will be Noemi, understand?"

"Okay," Madeleiene said softly.

He pulled her towards him for a quick, gruff hug, and straightened up, leading her over to her teacher. The young, dark-haired woman beamed and held up three brightly coloured nametags.

"I know you're not Brandon," she said warmly. "So—are you Alison, or are you Madeleine?"

The young girl smiled shyly.

"I'm Madeleine," she said.

The teacher leaned down to gently pin on her name tag .

"You look like a Madeleine," she said.

"How does a Madeleine look?" Madeleine asked.

"Oh, you know," the woman said. "Full of sugar and spice, and lots of smart!"

Madeleine giggled. She looked up at Gibbs.

"I like her," she said. "You can go."

Gibbs snorted and rolled his eyes, releasing Madeleine's hand. She stood between the adults, and her teacher gestured to herself.

"I'm Miss Flynn," she introduced. "Madeleine, you may go inside and pick six different coloured pieces of paper from the table. Get to know some classmates. We'll be starting as soon as the bell rings," she said.

Madeleine looked at Gibbs, darted to his legs and hugged him one more time, and then scampered into the classroom, her head swiveling around as she looked for Delia. Gibbs heard a comforting happy squeal as she found her friend, and he shoved his hands into his pockets uncertainly.

"Can I answer any questions for you?" Miss Flynn asked him nicely.

Gibbs eyed the playing Kindergarteners for another moment, a little shell-shocked that he was indeed about to leave his daughter at _Kindergarten_. He shook his head slowly and cleared his throat.

"No," he said gruffly.

"I take it she's your first?" Miss Flynn asked.

He looked at her warily, startled.

"Oh, I just mean," she began, lifting her hands, "it's difficult, to let them go. Dads have the hardest time. Not moms," she said wryly.

Gibbs looked at her for a moment, and then nodded.

"She's my second," he said vaguely—but, really, Madeleine was the first kid he'd seen off to Kindergarten. He had been deployed when Shannon started Kelly at this very school, and he hadn't returned until her Christmas break. He had, however, received every artistic project she'd ever done in a care package while overseas.

"She'll do great," Miss Flynn encouraged. "You didn't have to pry her away from you. She seems lovely!"

Gibbs smiled at the woman. He nodded and raised his hand, taking leave of her.

"Thanks," he said courteously.

"We'll see you at two-thirty," she chirped, and he nodded again and was off.

He was halfway to his car when he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed the familiar speed dial number. She answered on the first ring, and he knew she'd been staring at the cell just waiting for his call.

"Jethro?" Jenny asked. "How did it go?"

He grinned as he got into his car and shut the door, reaching for his seatbelt.

"She got a little nervous, but it went okay."

"Did she cry?" Jenny asked tensely.

"Nope."

There was a breath of relief.

"Did _you_ cry?" Jenny asked.

"_No_!"

"Are you sure?" Jenny pried wryly. "Jethro, it's okay if you did," she teased lightly.

"I didn't cry, Jen," he growled truthfully.

He sat back and tilted his head against the headrest, letting it sink in a moment that he had another daughter in Kindergarten. It wasn't—that it made him feel old, he just felt for a moment like it all really had happened too fast. After all, he'd barely known her when she was a baby.

"Jethro," Jenny spoke up in a small voice.

"Hmm?" he grunted.

"I think I am."

"You think you're what?"

"Going to—cry—"

Gibbs rolled his eyes, but a soft smirk tugged at his lips.

"Ah, hell, Jenny…"

* * *

><p>"Hey, Boss."<p>

DiNozzo's voice was the loudest in a chorus of anxious _hellos_ when Gibbs stormed into the bullpen at half past nine. He grunted at them all, lukewarm coffee in hand, and took up residence at his desk, booting everything up and settling in. DiNozzo cleared his throat pointedly and, when Gibbs said nothing, did so again—even louder, and more pointedly.

"You need somethin', _Pony_?" Gibbs drawled.

"Uh, yeah, speaking of Pony," DiNozzo answered rapidly. "How'd it go? Maddie and Kindergarten?"

Gibbs thought about ignoring him for a moment, but instead, looked around at them. They all looked eager to know, and he was suddenly struck with a sort of pride that they were concerned and curious about his daughter.

"Good," he said firmly. "It went good."

"Don't you mean _well_, Boss?"

Gibbs reached over and smacked DiNozzo in the back of the head. Kate laughed.

"Did Maddie cry?" McGee asked sympathetically.

"Nope, no tears," Gibbs answered.

"Aw, did you cry, Gibbs?" Kate prodded.

Annoyed, Gibbs rolled his eyes and slammed his hand on his desk.

"No, I didn't—why the hell does everyone keep asking me that?" he demanded incredulously.

"No one else asked!" DiNozzo pointed out defensively. "Only Kate!"

"Yeah, Kate, her mother, Abby's probably next," Gibbs grumbled, trailing off, sitting down—and forgetting that he'd just mentioned Madeleine's mother, which would no doubt remind DiNozzo that he was supposed to be _still_ pestering Gibbs about the mysterious mother-related vacation he'd taken in June.

Gibbs had prepared himself to answer questions about Jenny, as he'd assumed Madeleine would open her mouth and start chattering all about it the moment she was at NCIS on Monday morning. Reluctant as he was to share his personal life, if she'd talked, he didn't want her to think he was hiding anything or ashamed of Jenny, so he'd steeled himself to provide at least a little background. It hadn't been necessary, though, as Madeleine had been sulky and quiet after her mother left and instead of blathering on, had sat quietly behind Gibbs' desk watching a movie on Tony's portable DVD player.

Gibbs had then been easily able to deflect Tony's pestering, eager questions, and as the days had gone into weeks and months, DiNozzo had slowly dropped off questioning until it got to the point where he only slipped in a casual sly inquiry once in a while—unless Gibbs inadvertently reminded him about it.

"Mother? Is Maddie's mom in town, Gibbs?" DiNozzo asked, perking up. "You should bring her by, we'd like to meet her," he went on, nudging McGee. "Wouldn't we, Tim?"

"Leave me out of it," muttered McGee.

"She's not an object, Tony," snapped Kate. "Gibbs can't just _bring her by_ and show her off like an animal."

DiNozzo whirled towards Kate eagerly.

"So she's not a trophy type, eh, Kate?" he fished. "She's more the in-your-face-type?"

He had, at some point, deduced that Kate knew something about Madeleine's mother and was no doubt determined to get something out of her.

"DiNozzo, I'll get in your face if you don't shut up," growled Gibbs, turning to answer the phone on his desk as it rang.

"Just give me a hint, Kate, a tiny something," whined Tony, rounding on Kate. "What's the big secret—is the broad _blonde_?"

"Gear up," Gibbs grunted, hanging up the phone. "We got a body at Quantico."

They shuffled their things together and headed for the elevator with Gibbs in the lead. He chucked the keys to the truck to McGee, ignoring the affronted look he got from DiNozzo, and pressed the elevator button for the garage. As the doors slid shut, he whacked DiNozzo in the back of the head one more time.

DiNozzo squawked and grabbed his scalp, glaring at Gibbs moodily.

"What was that one for?"

Gibbs narrowed his eyes contemptuously.

"I don't date blondes."

* * *

><p>When he went down to the lab to glare at Abby for results, she cornered him in her office and encroached on his personal space until he was forced to sit down in her desk chair to avoid being plastered awkwardly against her. He tilted his head up and looked at her hesitantly, arching an eyebrow.<p>

"Abs?" he asked slowly.

She folded her arms and looked at him sympathetically.

"It's okay that you didn't cry," she said matter-of-factly. "But you just sent your baby off to Kindergarten, Gibbs, c'mon," she prodded. "I know you're not okay."

Gibbs blinked at her and shrugged his shoulders.

"Part of life, Abs," he said simply. "She's good, I'm good."

Abby gave him a pointed look, and he rolled his eyes good-naturedly and stood up, taking her shoulders in his arms and slowly pushing her backwards. He stared at her blankly for a moment, thinking about it while he silenced her. He really was _okay_. It wasn't something that bothered him, and he wasn't sure he could exactly put it into words for someone who didn't understand.

He was glad she was in Kindergarten. He was glad she was growing up. He was glad she was _alive_; it was as simple as that. He figured he'd have a meltdown when she was eight years old, and then, maybe, he could breathe just a little easier if she made it to the fifth grade.

"I can handle it," he said.

Abby looked at him through her lashes and sighed. She lunged forward and hugged him tightly, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

"I think you're a little sad to see her go to school," she whispered, touching his face gently. "And you know, Gibbs, parents are supposed to talk about these things."

He took her hands and handed them back to her wryly, studying her quietly before figuring out how he could get her off his back.

"I talked to her this morning, Abby."

She beamed and jumped a little.

"Good," she said earnestly. "Oh, good, Gibbs, that's what I wanted to hear!"

She slipped away from him and danced into her lab, twirling around, pigtails flying.

"I have a page of stickers to give to Maddie so she can decorate her folders for school," she chattered, pulling up the lab results he'd come for. "And ever since Jenny visited, I've been meaning to ask—just how strict are you about Rule Twelve? Kate told me you made it up after your little accident, anyway, and I'm curious because, well, McGee's been spending his nights in my coffin pretty consistently for about three months now…"

* * *

><p>Gibbs raised his eyebrows at Madeleine as he sat down to dinner with her. He leaned forward and lifted his fork, swinging it at her lightly and narrowing his eyes.<p>

"So?" he began. "What's the verdict?"

She danced in her seat a little, looking at him bashfully and munching on her food.

"I taught the other kids how to say hello in Hebrew!" she announced.

"Madeleine," he began sternly. "I told you not to speak in a different language."

"I wasn't doin' it to confuse them, I promise!" she protested earnestly. "We had to say cool things about us, so I said that I could talk in Hebrew and I was born in Israel so I got to teach the class!" she explained. "It was easy, 'cause hello and goodbye in Hebrew are the same, and they both mean peace!"

Gibbs nodded smiling at her.

"And then Delia, she can talk Yiddish, like Ziva talked to Tali sometimes, so she taught everyone how to say good luck and uh-oh, but I already knew them because of Ziva and Mommy," she chattered. "Oy, vey!" she demonstrated, pretending to hit herself in the forehead. She giggled and leaned back in her chair, slouching and using her fingers to pick at her snap peas.

"Madeleine. Fork."

"But I don't want to eat them."

"Eat them first, with your fork, and then they're still warm and you get them over with," Gibbs retorted.

Madeleine glared at him but obeyed and began grudgingly scooping the snap peas onto her fork.

"You never eat your veggies," she groused.

"Yeah, but Mom does," Gibbs retorted. "And you'd rather be like Mom, promise."

"How come?" Madeleine asked.

"Hm. 'Cause she's smarter than me. Much prettier, too."

"But she lives all the way in Egypt and I like it here," Madeleine pointed out blithely. "Also you haven't made her come back yet."

"Well, Emmy, I don't force your mother to do anything," he said gently. "That isn't how relationships work, okay? You make decisions. You don't give commands, got it?"

Madeleine nodded. She held up her fork.

"Know what? One girl in my class, she's from Kah-beck, in Canada. And her name is pretty and French. It's _Amalie, _and she taught us how to say words in French."

"What can you say?" Gibbs asked fondly.

"_Je m'apelle_ Madeleine," she obliged. "My name doesn't change. Amalie has been to France _six_ times!"

"You've been to France once," Gibbs pointed out.

"Have I?" Madeleine asked excitedly, perking up. She bobbed her head, her fork lingering amongst her snap peas. "When?!"

"You don't remember?"

"Uh," she stammered. "Nope."

"Well, you were little, about two," Gibbs answered. "It was the summer before you had your big scary appendix surgery," he explained. "Your mom got some vacation time, so she took you to Marseille and I met you there. It's a coastal city in France, with beaches."

"Did I play in the ocean?"

"A little," Gibbs said with a laugh. "We let you walk up to it, and you ran away from the waves and fell. Got a mouthful of sand and cried for the next hour. After that, I just held you on my shoulders in the water."

Madeleine giggled and beamed.

"I been so many places," she said proudly, her eyes sparkling. "I'm interesting!"

"Very interesting," Gibbs agreed. He gave her a sly look. "Mom fell in _love_ with me in France," he informed her wickedly.

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yeah huh," he retorted. "Pester her about it constantly," he ordered. "Ask her to tell you _exactly_!"

"How come, Daddy?" Madeleine asked.

"'Cause I want to know, and you're my little spy," he answered seriously.

She burst into laughter, and he leaned back in his chair, glancing around Jenny's kitchen appreciatively. They would be spending a lot of weekdays here since Noemi was keeping Madeleine after school. It was just easier to settle down here after work than go home and move around all the time. Madeleine was excited to get more use out of her room at Jenny's house, anyway. The only downside to the arrangement was Oz—Jenny hated the idea of the dog having free run of her house, so he was confined to her small backyard when they were here.

Madeleine leaned forward and grabbed her cup of grape juice.

"Hey, Daddy?" she said.

"Yes?" he drawled.

"I think I want to go to Kindergarten again tomorrow," she informed him seriously.

He grinned at her and held out his hands gallantly.

"Your wish is my command, Princess."

* * *

><p>Gibbs was wrapping up some final details on a case when his cell phone went off. He groaned and picked it up, praying it wasn't anything that would keep him at work any later—it was already after seven and if he stayed any longer, it would be the third time this week he didn't come home until Maddie was in bed. He read Jen's number on the ID, though, and answered immediately.<p>

"Are you busy?" she asked quickly, barely letting him greet her.

He glanced around the bullpen at his team, all busy finishing the same details he was. He shook his head to himself.

"Nope," he answered shortly. "Closing a case."

"Oh," Jenny said quietly. "You're at work."

He stood up and removed his personal effects from his desk, closing the drawer and locking it.

"Not busy," he reiterated, ignoring the curious look DiNozzo was suddenly giving him. Gibbs checked his watch and frowned. "What time is it there, three in the morning?" he asked warily, walking out of the bullpen towards the elevator.

She took a deep breath and seemed to struggle with answering him, which gave him enough time to get on the elevator and kill the power, allowing him enough privacy to talk. He leaned against the back wall and waited.

"I—it's—yeah, it's late," she conceded defeatedly. Her voice seemed to shake.

"Jen?" he probed carefully. "You okay?"

"Do you think I'd be calling you at this hour if I was okay?" she snapped.

"Are you hurt?" he asked aggressively, sufficiently—well, scared—by her anxiety.

"No, I'm sorry I snapped, Jethro, I just," she backtracked anxiously, stumbling over her words. "I can't sleep," she admitted dully. "I thought hearing your voice might help."

He had a sudden image of the way she used to curl up next to him and bury her face in her arms when she was trying to get to sleep without letting her thoughts keep her awake. He sighed silently to himself and slid down to the floor of the elevator, resting his elbows on his knees.

"What's wrong?" he asked gruffly.

"Nightmares," she answered tiredly.

"You sound exhausted, Jen."

"I am," she said honestly. "I can't sleep," she repeated. "It's the same—dream I had when I was with you, where I'm trapped in Cairo again, but…they have Madeleine."

Gibbs nodded, gritting his teeth together.

"It's been a couple months," he said levelly. "You know any reason why you started havin' 'em?"

She fell almost into a guilty silence.

"Jenny," he growled.

"I never stopped having them," she confessed quietly. "They're just getting worse, and it's like I have a bad feeling, the Czech Republic feeling, all the time—"

"Jen," he interrupted gently. "You need to see someone."

"Don't give me that bullshit, Jethro," she snapped defensively. "If it were you, you'd scoff at me if I told you to see someone. Practice what you preach or keep your mouth shut."

"What do you want me to say, Jenny?" he barked. "You called me for help."

"I never had nightmares when I slept with you!" she burst out tensely.

"Flattering," he growled bluntly. "But you had one when you were here."

"That's different. I was traumatized, and scared, and—"

"You're still traumatized and scared," he broke in pointedly. "Or you'd be sleepin' through the night!"

It sounded like she slammed something down on her side of the line, and the connection crackled for a minute. He reached up and rubbed his jaw harshly, struggling for something to say.

"Look," he began gruffly. "You were tortured, Jen. No one expects you to just walk away without a nightmare or two. But this is a problem, if you can't sleep. I know," he paused uncomfortably. "I know somethin' about post-traumatic stress disorder—"

"That _isn't_ what this is—"

"We always say that isn't what it is," he snapped harshly, "and if you don't face the truth, you don't see someone, you put a strain on your marriage, or you scare your kid," he trailed off.

"You aren't talking about us," Jenny realized in a small voice. She hesitated. "Shannon?"

"My first combat deployment was a bitch," Gibbs said in a low voice. "I'd wake up, and I didn't recognize her, Jen. I thought I was back in the goddamn desert, and I could've hurt her," he explained tensely. He was still uncomfortable with the topic, and he didn't want to discuss it—but he didn't want to see Jenny spiral out of control, either. "You don't run the risk of breaking someone's neck when you wake up disoriented, but I did. Shannon stuck it out, and I never talked to the Corps' psychiatrist, but I should have. Would've made things better, faster. You need to see someone."

Jenny was quiet for a long time.

"I'll look weak," she said finally, her voice catching. "I'm in charge here. Soldiers don't look weak if they break, Jethro…women do," her voice cracked, and she pulled the phone away from her mouth.

Gibbs clenched his teeth.

"No one looks at you…and thinks you're weak," he told her firmly. "You just—you don't look weak, Jen. You just don't," he said flatly. "But you'll look damn weak if you fall asleep in a meeting and wake up screaming or somethin'," he pointed out.

She cleared her throat hoarsely.

"They're just nightmares," she said shakily. "Madeleine, she's safe, right?"

"Wondering where I am, probably," Gibbs answered grudgingly, realizing she was going to ignore him—at least for the time being.

"I just can't figure out why she's in my nightmares," Jenny said unhappily. "She wasn't anywhere near Cairo, she's safe with you, but these recurring dreams…they've always got her, and they're making me watch while they torture her, and maybe it's because it's a dream but she withstands impossible violence and she never passes out and never—dies—she just _screams_—"

"Stop," growled Gibbs harshly. "I can't hear it," he forced out in a raw voice. "I don't want to hear it. That's why you need a therapist."

"I don't understand why they have her," Jenny repeated pitifully.

"You think it's because Ari Haswari is the one who threw you to the wolves?" barked Gibbs aggressively. "Because he held her hostage in autopsy, and he didn't give a damn if those bastards in Egypt ripped you to pieces?"

Jenny gave a strangled gasp, as if she hadn't thought of it that way. She mumbled incoherently and swallowed hard—and then there was a loud banging on the elevator doors.

"Boss, what the _hell_ are you doing in there?" whined DiNozzo's muffled voice.

"You can take the stairs, Tony," Kate nagged.

Gibbs glared narrowly at the doors. He wracked his brains for something to say; he didn't want to get off the phone with Jenny on a negative note, especially if she was upset.

"Madeleine is fine," he said, softening his tone. "She's doin' normal kid stuff. She got a yellow card warning at school the other day because she pushed a boy who told her Spiderman was better than Star Wars."

Jenny laughed hoarsely.

"You think you can get some sleep?" he asked, concerned.

She sighed.

"I'd sleep better if you were here," she admitted in a small voice.

He laughed gruffly.

"Jen, I think we'd all sleep better if _you_ were _here_," he pointed out gruffly.

"Goodnight, Jethro," she said quietly.

He returned the goodbye, and got up, flicking on the elevator and pressing the open doors button. DiNozzo was standing outside with his ear turned towards the doors, obviously unaware for a moment that Gibbs had opened the doors. He jumped and took a step back, hoisting his backpack up on his shoulder. He held out his hand and revealed Gibbs' personal effects, including his car keys.

"Grabbed your stuff for you," he said, barreling onto the elevator—essentially forcing Gibbs to have no reason to go back to the bullpen and take a different elevator.

Gibbs grudgingly backed into the elevator and watched DiNozzo press the button for the basement. He danced on the balls of his feet and looked over at Gibbs, wriggling his eyebrows and smacking some gum.

"Lady troubles?" he asked, cocking his head with interest.

Gibbs head-slapped him.

* * *

><p>"Madeleine," Gibbs sighed, rubbing his forehead. He picked up her arm and flipped it over, examining a scrape on the inside of her wrist. She had a matching one on the other arm, and considering he'd just tended to a cut on her knee yesterday, and a huge bruise on her shin two days before that, he was starting to get concerned. "What happened?"<p>

He narrowed his eyes and started to dab at the scrape with antiseptic. She hissed at him like an angry cat and tried to twist away, but he snatched her back and held her tightly between his knees, ruffling her wet hair. She was fresh out of the bath, and he didn't want her going to bed without these scrapes being extra clean. Kelly had once gotten an infection from a gravel scrape he and Shannon had thought was nothing to worry about.

"Daddy that HURTS; stop it right _now_."

"Oh, it's just a little sting," he retorted, arching his eyebrow. "I bet it doesn't hurt as much as when you got it, huh?" he prompted. "What happened?" he repeated.

She was still trying to twist away from him insistently.

"Madeleine," he barked. "Stand still, young lady."

She stopped twisting and glared at him.

"I jumped off the swings," she said snottily.

"Did you?" Gibbs asked, narrowing his eyes. "And why did you think that was a good idea?" he demanded lightly.

"Because Preston and Billy jumped off the swings."

"Great," muttered Gibbs, rolling his eyes. "Well, if Preston and Billy jumped off a bridge, would you jump off after them?"

Madeleine frowned.

"No," she answered, slightly defeated. "Bridges are too high and scary."

"Swings are scary if you jump off them when you're too high up," Gibbs said. "What if you had gotten hurt badly? Broken an arm or busted your head open? Then Daddy would have been scared."

Madeleine frowned again, her shoulders slumping. She turned towards him and leaned her elbow on his knee, letting him tend to the one scrape a little more willingly.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

She looked up at him earnestly though her eyelashes.

"But I swung so high, Daddy! Higher than the boys, and I did it all with my feet, no one else pushing me! And Preston fell on his butt and he cried about it and Billy landed on his knees but I landed on my feet and then I ran forward to stay up but I slipped and hit my arm, that's how the scrapes got there."

He nodded, satisfied that one scrape was clean, and holding out his hand for her other. She shifted and placed it in his palm, wincing and squirming when he rubbed the antiseptic over her again.

"You're a tough little thing," he commented, trying not to sound too proud of her for failing to cry when her classmate did. "But I want you to be careful, okay?" he asked, looking her in the eye. "That bruise on your shin is pretty nasty," he muttered, still smarting over the ugly purple and black thing blooming over her leg.

"Not my fault," she whined. "I got hit with a baseball bat!"

"Yes, and you were told to move out of the way of the swing," Gibbs retorted, arching a brow at her. He finished up her second scrape and set the first aid kit onto Jenny's study coffee table. He reached out and pulled Madeleine onto his lap, leaning back on the sofa. "I don't want you to be scared to have fun, but you gotta be smart about it, honey," he told her.

She wrinkled her nose and crossed her arms, rolling off his lap.

"Can I go say goodnight to Oz?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"You said goodnight before the bath," he denied her. "It's muddy outside, and Oz is dirty."

"Baths are stupid," Madeleine decided glumly.

Gibbs grinned.

"You want to go a week without a bath?" he asked skeptically.

"No!" she cried, giggling. "Then I will smell like a _boy_!"

Gibbs stood up and swept her up, tickling her stomach as he left the study and carried her towards the stairs.

"You think boys smell?" he growled, while she giggled and tried to escape.

"Yes!" she shrieked.

He tickled her relentlessly.

"That hurts my feelings, Emmy," he said dramatically, carrying her up the stairs towards her room. "I'm not smelly!"

She couldn't get words out because she was laughing too hard, and when he finally tumbled onto her bed with her and scaled back his attack on her ribs and stomach, she sat up and put her hands on her hips glaring at him.

"You are _too_!" she retorted primly.

He raised his eyebrows at her.

"I guess you don't want me to tuck you in, then," he answered, feigning a sigh and starting to stand up.

She squealed and jumped up, attaching herself to his arm.

"Yes, I do!" she cried, correcting herself. "Only Pony is smelly!"

He grinned and turned around, gesturing to her bed.

"Hop under the covers," he ordered. "Which Narnia book are we doin'?"

"_The Silver Chair_!" Madeleine announced gallantly, while Gibbs retrieved it from her bookshelf.

He went about his usual routine of settling her in and sitting down so she could snuggle up to him while he read. She was beyond pleased he had been home for dinner and for bedtime tonight, and for that, he was glad, too.

Kindergarten was taking a lot of Madeleine time away from him, and he had the feeling that the person who missed Madeleine's time at NCIS on Mondays the most was actually her _father_—because she herself was thriving in school.

* * *

><p>Madeleine begged, and pleaded, and wheedled, and sweet-talked, and bat her eyelashes, and tried to bribe him—even tried to threaten him—and groveled and whined until Gibbs, worn down, had finally picked up the phone and called Fornell to ask if he could bring Madeleine by to see the new baby.<p>

He knew Diane had had it Labor Day weekend, because Fornell had taken leave for a week and a half and Gibbs had to work a joint case with an FBI probie who knew nothing abut anything. He hadn't really planned on going _visiting_, but Madeleine had apparently thought that she was going to get to see Emily's baby brother immediately and was shocked when Gibbs hadn't taken her over the moment Diane brought him home.

As much as Gibbs liked Emily Fornell, and liked that Madeleine had a friend who was older than her and liked to sort of guide her around, he was beginning to regret how closely he'd integrated his daughter with his ex-wife's daughter. Jenny wasn't usually too jealous, but when it came to Diane, she got catty—as she demonstrated the time Madeleine was sick and Diane took care of her.

"His name is _Henry_," Madeleine chattered to him from her car seat in the back. "Emily got to name him. She gets to call him Harry. Like Harry Potter." Madeleine giggled. "She says he's little bitty, and he makes noises like kitties!"

Gibbs grunted vaguely and kept his eyes on the road. His reluctance over this was growing steadily as they approached the Fornells, if for no other reason than he'd lived with Diane when she was stressed out and tired from work, and he did not look forward to being in her house right after she'd had a baby. He was imagining all kinds of scenarios, most of which featured her breathing fire and trying to string him up by his toes in a dungeon.

"Emily gets to hold him without sitting down, but she says I have to sit, maybe."

"Madeleine, I don't think you should count on holding the baby," Gibbs warned.

"How come?"

"Because, he's very little. He's only two weeks old, and Mrs. Diane might not want you to hold him, okay?"

"But why?" Madeleine whined.

Gibbs sighed, frowning a little.

"Babies are kind of fragile, honey," he told her. He reached behind his head and tapped it. "They have soft spots here and sometimes moms worry too much to let little kids hold them. You can't act up if Mrs. Diane says no."

Madeleine frowned slightly, but then shrugged, tossing her head.

"I just want to see him," she decided delicately. She held up a little stuffed green bear. "And give him the present!" she said, proudly presenting the animal Noemi had given her to give to Henry Fornell.

"Yeah, I think he'll like the bear," Gibbs placated.

He pulled into the Fornell's driveway and killed the car's engine, warily looking up at the house. It was a Sunday afternoon, so no one should be too frazzled or stressed out—Sundays were usually good days to visit people in a relaxed atmosphere. Madeleine was certainly full of good behavior on Sundays, since Noemi took her to Mass in the mornings.

Madeleine unbuckled herself fairly quickly, and Gibbs got out and opened the door for her. Tobias had seemed enthusiastic when he said they could come visit; he'd claimed Diane was in a great mood this time around and rambled on about post-partum depression with Emily and how that wasn't a problem this time. Gibbs decided silently he'd have to see it to believe it.

He shut Madeleine's door, and she ran up the front steps. He saw her reaching for the doorbell before he could get there—

"Madeleine Jane Gibbs, do not ring that—"

But she pressed the button heavily, bouncing on her tiptoes, and he took the last steps to the porch at a run, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her back against his knees.

"Madeleine," he growled seriously. "If you woke that baby up ringing the bell, I'll swat your butt in front of Emily and her parents," he told her.

She whined unhappily at him, and Gibbs scrambled to straighten up quickly as the door opened, his hand a tight warning on Madeleine's shoulder. She frowned up at Diane, and Gibbs winced.

"Sorry about the doorbell," he muttered sincerely.

To his total surprise, Diane _smiled_ at him.

"No worries," she said. "He's awake."

Gibbs nodded and nudged Madeleine, giving her a finale glare.

"Behave yourself," he warned under his breath, and she nodded, bobbing her head excitedly. She skipped into the house, and Gibbs shut the door behind him. "We're not bothering you?" he asked gruffly.

"No," Diane said, waving him off. She ran her hand through her hair and pulled it up, looking much better rested than he'd expected. She patted down some strands of hair behind her ears and shrugged, putting a hand on her hip. "Actually, things have been great."

Gibbs stared at her warily, and she laughed at the look on his face.

"I knew you'd think I'd been body-snatched," she remarked, and turned around to greet Madeleine. "Sweetie, Mr. Toby is changing Henry right now, but Emily is in the living room with some snacks if you want to go wait a minute," she said.

Madeleine nodded happily and darted off, calling Emily's name. Emily answered, and Gibbs looked back at Diane, following her into the kitchen.

"Want something to drink?" she asked, taking a pitcher of tea from the fridge.

"No," he answered honestly, still wary. He looked through the open area in the kitchen to the living room, eyeing his daughter and Emily.

Madeleine threw herself down on a beanbag chair and surveyed Emily's cheese and crackers, politely waiting until Emily offered to take one. Gibbs nodded to himself, pleased with her manners so far, and then watched Diane pour her tea. She put the pitcher back into the refrigerator and smiled _again_.

"_Have_ you been body-snatched?" Gibbs deadpanned.

Diane snorted.

"No," she answered decisively. "But there is a world of difference in the second baby compared to the first, I've discovered."

"Yeah?" Gibbs asked. "What's that?"

"Don't you know?" she asked.

He shrugged, refusing to answer. If she thought she'd made a mistake in trying to connect, she decided not to comment on it, and waved her hand, going on. She shrugged her shoulders happily.

"I'm not freaked out," she said simply. "I know how to take care of him, I know what to expect…it helps that he's the calmest baby, Leroy. He hardly ever cries, he just sleeps or looks up at me with those lovely blue eyes." She took a drink of tea and smiled, tilting her head back. "And Tobias? He surprised me with that leave he took. He's been home and helping, and even Emily helps, and I get plenty of sleep this time," she trailed off.

Gibbs watched her look fondly into the living room, and he relaxed a little. It seemed Fornell was telling the truth—Diane was in a good mood, and he could probably let his guard down a little and trust her not to eat him alive.

At that moment, Tobias walked in with the baby, mumbling to him in amusing baby talk. He noticed Gibbs, shut up gruffly, and tried to ignore the smirk on the NCIS agent's face.

"Right, like you _never_ cooed at Madeleine," he blustered.

Gibbs shrugged.

"Wasn't there to _coo_," he retorted smugly.

Fornell muttered under his breath and handed the baby to Diane.

"Didn't cry once," he said proudly. "Emily's gonna have a real time competin' with this boy," Fornell said to Gibbs. "She was such an unhappy baby, and this'un," Gibbs eyed the infant with interest, and Fornell smirked. "Son looks like me, don't you think?"

Gibbs cocked his head.

"Yeah, unfortunately, Tobias," he joked.

Diane shot him a look, and Fornell elbowed him harshly.

"Hey, I tell you she's in a good mood and you call her baby ugly? Jesus, Gibbs," he groused.

"Didn't say ugly," Gibbs muttered sheepishly, and Diane rolled her eyes good-naturedly and slipped past them into the living room.

Gibbs managed to catch her before she had gotten past the doorway.

"Hey," he said in a quiet voice. "I told Madeleine not to expect to hold 'im, so don't worry about lettin' her," he advised.

"Aw, Leroy, she wants to hold him," Diane placated. "She'll be fine. We'll just have her wash her hands and sit on the couch with a pillow behind her arm."

Gibbs looked startled as Diane continued on her way into the living room to repeat her instructions to Madeleine.

"She let _both_ of my nephews hold him," Fornell said, eyebrows going up. "And they're dumber and younger than Maddie." He nodded at the bemused look on Gibbs' face and lowered his voice with a snort. "I think they gave her too many drugs, y'know, they brain-damaged her evil center," he joked.

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," muttered Gibbs, turning his attention to Madeleine when she darted in and asked him to lift her up to the counter so she could wash her hands.

He helped her with that while Fornell got himself a glass of tea and shuffled around in the kitchen, presumably looking for a snack. When Madeleine's hands were scrubbed satisfactorily and she was dried off, Gibbs helped her down and followed her into the living room.

Emily looked up from her snack and waved at him, still dressed in her Sunday best, and then pointed to a spot on the couch she'd fixed up for Madeleine. Diane was seated next to the little corner with the pillow, making sure the baby was amenable to being held.

Madeleine looked up at Gibbs hopefully.

"Go on," he acquiesced. "If Mrs. Diane says it's okay," he agreed.

Madeleine ran over to the couch and climbed up so quickly that Gibbs was sure she'd teleported. He moseyed into the living room and sat down on the floor next to Emily.

"Want a cracker?" Emily asked him, arching an eyebrow smartly.

"I look like a parrot to you?" he retorted wryly.

"No, you look like a grumpy old man," Emily answered smugly.

"Em," warned Diane mildly.

Emily giggled, and Gibbs grinned, accepting the childish snack. He eyed Madeleine warily as Diane gave her instructions for holding the baby and then, slowly but carefully, transferred Henry into her perfectly cradled arms. Madeleine smiled excitedly and didn't move, impeccably following Diane's direction. Diane pulled away calmly and leaned against the couch.

Madeleine giggled and twitched her feet a little.

"Awww," she squealed quietly. "Look! He's staring at me!" she laughed again. "Daddy, look at him!"

"I see 'im, Emmy," Gibbs said gruffly, nodding to show he was watching.

He smiled a little nostalgically, struck for a moment by memories of Madeleine when she was that young. He was amazed by how few concrete memories of that time he really had. After all, for the majority of her infancy, he'd only had pictures—the two times he'd been there when she was that tiny were brief and painfully hard to recall sometimes.

He munched on his cracker thoughtfully and swallowed it, rubbing his jaw. It was—interesting to see Madeleine holding a baby. He and Shannon had never been able to afford more children, and his and Jen's situation was currently so unstable that it wasn't something he had ever thought about—but he wondered—

"Henry sleeps with my parents," Emily announced informatively, looking at Gibbs seriously. "So that way he only wakes _them_ up when he cries. And it's good because since he's in there, they can't make any more Henrys," she added suggestively, and then shot a look at her father, who was standing behind Gibbs. "_Right_?" she asked dangerously.

Diane flushed and shook her head, looking pointedly away from Gibbs.

"I want a Henry," Madeleine said blithely.

"Your parents can't have a baby because they don't—"

"Emily Fornell," warned Tobias sharply. "What did we tell you?"

Emily shrugged and shut her mouth, falling silent. She looked over at Madeleine and her brother.

"You can share Henry," she decided. "He's only cool sometimes. I call him Harry when I like him. I don't like him right now."

Gibbs grinned.

"Why not?" he asked, before he could stop himself.

"He spit up on me," growled Emily.

The adults laughed, and she gave them all a perturbed look. Henry fidgeted and fussed in Madeleine's cradle, and she looked at Diane nervously.

"He's okay," Diane soothed, leaning forward again. She bent closer to Madeleine and cupped Henry's head, smiling softly. "He just wants to be cuddled a little," she explained. She stroked the baby's head gently and reached up and pushed Madeleine's hair back, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Madeleine smiled contently, and Gibbs narrowed his eyes.

He didn't say anything, but at the sight of the maternal, sweet gesture from Diane to Madeleine, he was uncomfortable—even jealous—on Jenny's behalf, and he wished his ex-wife wouldn't be so tender with Madeleine. He appreciated her kindness, and that she'd never taken any anger at Gibbs out on his daughter—but it still irked him suddenly.

Henry fussed again and turned his head into Madeleine's chest, nudging around. She giggled.

"What is he _doing_?" she asked, scrunching up her face.

"He's hungry," Diane said, holding out her hands. "Let me have him back, sweetie," she coaxed, and Madeleine allowed her to take the baby back.

Diane stood up and looked around, frowning when she couldn't find what she needed.

"Here," she said, stepping over a baby's bouncing chair and handing off the infant to Gibbs. "Your turn," she muttered, shooting him a wry look. "You wanted to hold him, I saw you looking," she said quietly, insisting Gibbs take the baby even though he had requested no such thing.

"Diane, don't make him hold the baby, sheesh," griped Fornell.

Diane had straightened up and walked away.

"I have to change before I feed him," she said, gesturing to her church clothes. "Don't let him fool you, Tobias," she added, her voice fading as she went down the hall to the master bedroom. "He _likes_ babies."

Gibbs glared at the boy, who looked up at him with the typical blue eyes of a newborn and yawned, smacking his lips unhappily. He was clearly _not_ pleased to have been taken from one human who was not able to feed him and given to another who was unable to feed him. He started to whine, and then cry.

"Look at that," Fornell said smugly. "He hates you."

Gibbs snorted and adjusted his hold, making his arms more comfortable for the infant and standing up. Madeleine looked up at him, beaming, and he smiled back at her a little uncomfortably. He did like babies—and he did miss holding Madeleine when she'd been this little. He had always liked it when his babies slept on his chest, right under his chin, and he didn't think he was going to have the opportunity for that again.

Diane came back a moment later, in an old button down and jeans. She came up to him, reaching for the baby, and stopped for a moment, tilting her head. She smiled wryly at him.

"It makes you want another one, doesn't it?" she asked smartly.

Gibbs looked over at Madeleine, considering for a moment. She blinked at him, and then got back on the floor to snack with Emily, pestering her friend with tales from the Kindergarten playground. He shook his head seriously and handed Henry back to his mother.

"No," he answered honestly, shrugging his shoulders.

The idea of Madeleine with a sibling was fleeting, a brief curiosity, but he knew the moment Diane mentioned it that he didn't want another kid. He'd never been bitter that he and Shannon couldn't afford one other than Kelly, and he didn't have it in him to start over with an infant now that Madeleine was in school.

Accidental as his second daughter had been, he was content with her—and only her.

* * *

><p>It was after midnight, and Gibbs found himself having an increasingly loud cross-continental fight over the telephone. He paced his bedroom floor, tired, having barely gotten to sleep when Jenny's call woke him up.<p>

"This is the sixth time, Jen," he growled loudly. "The _sixth_ time in a _month_. I'm not even countin' the first time you called!"

"This isn't _helpful_," she cried in his ear. "You are not being understanding, Jethro!"

He felt guilty to be yelling at her, because she was so upset, but he was losing sleep over _her_ losing sleep, and her stubborn refusal to heed his warnings had finally gotten the best of him. If it was the middle of the night here, it was close to eight in the morning in Egypt, and she was usually up and working at this hour, not just being awoken by another nightmare and calling him for—counsel.

"I don't understand what you want me to do," he barked at her. "You think it's easy for me to listen to you bitch that you want me to be there when you wake up from a bad dream? I'm not there, Jen. I can't be there, and there's nothin' I can do from here if you won't go talk to someone!"

He knew he was being harsh, but these nightmares of hers were really tearing her apart. She had looked awful when she had Skyped with Madeleine the other day; she'd had dark circles under her eyes and been pale and thin. It had been months since she'd been held captive in Cairo and she really needed to deal with this.

"I have told you, I don't have time to sit in a damn therapist's office! I'm busy, and I—"

"And you're fallin' apart," interrupted Gibbs loudly.

She fell silent.

"I told you to talk to someone," he growled.

"I don't want to—"

"You used to call me a bastard for this kind of shit, Jen!" he shouted. "Now you're pulling the same crap when you know you need help—what kind of example does that set for our daughter? You want her to let somethin' tear her apart without getting help some day?"

"That isn't fair," gasped Jenny heavily.

"Goddamnit, it's the truth."

She swore at him, but he cut her off again.

"You talk to someone, Jenny, or so help me—I'll report you to Morrow. I'll tell him to bench you—"

"You son of a bitch. I'm trusting you with my personal problems, and you threaten my career? What kind of power do you think you have?"

"I'm protecting you, Jen. You're too damn blind to see it!" he barked. "I don't care if it's Ducky you have shrink your head, as long as it's someone! I'd rather you be pissed at me on forced medical leave than lose your head and get yourself killed because you're not sleeping—"

Jenny started crying angrily, and he turned around violently to pace back towards the bed—and there was Madeleine, standing groggily in the doorway. He froze, feelings of regret and guilt washing over him.

"Daddy," she whined unhappily. "You are yelling."

He hesitated, listening to Jen on the phone, and staring at Madeleine in the doorway.

"Hold on, Jenny," he said calmly. "Hold on."

He turned his head to hold the phone between his ear and his shoulder, and then he crouched down and took Madeleine's shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Emmy," he said sincerely.

"Is that Mommy?"

"Is that Madeleine?" Jenny asked hoarsely. "Did you—did we wake her up?"

Gibbs didn't answer Jenny. He patted Madeleine's shoulders.

"Go back to bed," he coaxed softly. "I'll be there in a minute to say goodnight."

"You woke me up!"

"I know, honey, I'm sorry," he paused, and then knelt down and took the phone. "Emmy, your mom is a little worried about you. Can you say hello to her real quick and make her feel better?"

Madeleine took the phone and yawned.

"Mommy?" she said into it sleepily. "This is ahuva. I'm okay but I'm sleepy. Daddy was yelling."

Jenny said something to Madeleine. Madeleine yawned and nodded her head, a pout spreading over her lips.

"You should get a puppy if you had a bad dream," Madeleine said suddenly. "Daddy got me Oz when I had Ari dreams."

Gibbs smiled a little, relieved and sat back on his heels. He stifled his own yawn and tried to relax. After a moment, Madeleine blinked her eyes tiredly and handed him the cell phone. She sat down in front of him and laid her head in his lap, closing her eyes.

"Jen," he said gently. She was still talking soothingly to Madeleine, and she herself seemed to have calmed down a little. "Jen, she's falling back to sleep."

Jenny laughed hoarsely. She took a deep breath and caught her bearings.

"You're right," she said after a moment. "You're right."

"Yeah," he agreed gruffly.

"Don't rub it in," she said heavily. "I'll call Ducky later this week."

"_Tomorrow_."

She hesitated.

"Okay."

Gibbs tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder again, and lifted Madeleine into his arms, carrying her back into her room.

"I'll check up on it, Jenny," he warned.

She murmured under her breath.

"I'm being an asshole because I give a damn, Jen," he said dryly, letting her know he'd caught exactly what she'd said under her breath.

* * *

><p>At three o'clock on a Thursday afternoon, Gibbs glared moodily at the clock on his computer, silently wishing he could just pretend he'd forgotten he had to leave in ten minutes for a meeting he really did not want to attend. He'd been trying not to dread this all day, instead focusing on case work and thinking up about twelve different things he'd rather be sitting through—one of them the incredibly painful sexual harassment training he'd had to sit through last week.<p>

NCIS was instating new, stricter policies about relationships between agents, and though he was grandfathered in, he swore he could feel Morrow smirking at him from across the room. There were all kinds of human resources hoops to jump through, and when Jenny got the memo she'd probably breathe easier because there was no way in hell he'd be proposing any time soon.

That aside, he was still dreading the meeting he had to leave work early for _today_.

"Hey, uh, isn't it that time, Boss?" piped up DiNozzo gleefully, tapping his watch. "Wouldn't want to be late, would you? Pretty important shindig you got to get to."

Gibbs mustered a ferocious glare for his senior agent, and DiNozzo quailed a bit. Kate, smart enough to say nothing, sat smirking at her desk and McGee, oblivious as always, looked up and blithely asked:

"Where do you have to be, Boss?"

DiNozzo snickered. Gibbs ignored the young agent, and glared at DiNozzo, but it was ultimately Kate who betrayed him.

"He has a PTA meeting," she said smugly.

McGee arched an eyebrow.

"Parent-Teacher Association, McAcronym," DiNozzo said suavely. "It's what all the mommies bake cupcakes for."

"You're going to bake cupcakes?" McGee asked Gibbs seriously.

Gibbs glared at him this time.

"Noemi tricked him into signing up," Kate revealed, bemused. "He thought he was signing a document for them to give Madeleine ibuprofen."

McGee had the nerve to grin gleefully. DiNozzo laughed.

"I, uh, always liked when my mom was at school," McGee tried unhelpfully. "She chaperoned all the field trips."

"Quit digging that hole, McGee," hissed DiNozzo, leaning back in his chair and giving Gibbs another smirk.

"Are you gonna chaperone the kiddies to the zoo, Boss?" he prodded smugly.

Tired of the teasing, Gibbs decided he'd just leave early and get the damn thing over with. Kate was a little off; Noemi hadn't tricked him into signing up per se—Noemi wasn't deceitful and would never do such a thing—but she hadn't realized that if he signed all the papers Madeleine brought home last week, he'd be put on a list for things like the PTA. And Gibbs wouldn't have been so easily roped into it if the woman who called hadn't been a very scary, persistent, bubbly woman by the name of Minda Joy.

Gibbs had been so distracted by the woman, who was clearly born and raised in the south, calling him 'sugar' and 'hon' every other second that he'd agreed to go to some meeting about a Fall Festival at the elementary school. His greatest fear at the moment was that he was going to be coerced into a dunking booth or something.

The one upside was he got off work early, which meant he'd be able to make it to Madeleine's ice skating lesson today, and he'd not been able to see her skate in a long time.

He got up and got his things together, ignoring DiNozzo's joyous expression.

"Remember, Gibbs," DiNozzo said as he was leaving, "when you're around all those moms, don't make any sudden movements—your silvery fox hair has _prey_ written all over it."

Gibbs rolled his eyes and stormed out, ignoring Kate's laughter, and then silently prayed all of these moms were married, old, and uninterested in former marines.

* * *

><p>He should have known that was unlikely. The minute he walked into the designated room, every single female eye was on him, and he cringed. He looked around, dumbstruck for a moment, and then to his relief Delia's mother, Tamara, appeared out of nowhere beside him with an amused expression on her face.<p>

"Stick close to me, Jethro," she warned. "Even married women have the hots for single daddies."

"I'm not single," Gibbs muttered distastefully, even as a frighteningly cheery woman came bustling forward.

"Oh, sugar, you've got to be Leroy Jethro," she said happily. "My, aren't you handsome—well come on, don't be shy. We've got coffee, and well, you know, I just had to mix up some sweet tea for the gals." Gibbs found himself being dragged away from Delia's mother to a refreshment table, with the woman who must be the bubbly Minda Joy's arm attached to his shoulder.

"Now, Leroy Jethro, sugar, don't you let all these women make you nervous, we're completely harmless," she laughed.

"Gibbs," he grunted at her seriously.

"Pardon me, hon?"

"Call me Gibbs," he told her, unable to stomach the idea of _seriously_ being called Leroy Jethro this entire afternoon.

"Nonsense, sugar, I'll call you by your Christian name," she answered matter-of-factly.

Gibbs turned towards Tamara with wide eyes, and she shook with silent laughter at him, sidling up to rescue him.

"Minda, why don't you let me ease Jethro into all this," she offered smoothly. "You know how men can be," she added, fluttering her lashes.

Minda beamed and released Gibbs, turning to greet another newcomer and breaking into a welcoming chatter in her southern drawl.

"My husband is a salesman," Tamara said dryly. "He's much better suited to large groups of people than I am. Very good with others."

"What do you do?" Gibbs asked gruffly, having forgotten.

"Computer programming," Tamara answered, arching a brow. "I work alone, and from home."

Gibbs snorted and nodded wistfully.

"Here," Tamara handed him a Styrofoam cup of coffee. "Brace yourself—I'm sure Missy Minda's gonna try to rope us into all kinds of volunteer work."

Gibbs heaved a sigh and took a seat with Tamara while they waited for the meeting to start. While other people got situated, Minda reappeared in front of Gibbs and started talking to him, her freckled face and big hair pretty and earnest.

"You know, sugar, my little Mindy just loves Miss Madeleine," she gushed. "We have just got to get them together for a play date. Your little girl is just so cute, with her quirky little Jewish necklace."

Tamara raised an eyebrow and snorted into her coffee. Still trying to recover from the idea of Minda's daughter being named _Mindy_, Gibbs narrowed his eyes slightly.

"It's not a quirk."

"Beg pardon?" Minda asked brightly.

"Her necklace isn't a quirk," he said shortly. "It's her faith."

"Oh!" Minda sounded taken aback but composed herself beautifully.

"Lord have mercy, I hadn't thought she looked Jewish at all."

This time, Tamara laughed outright into her coffee.

"What does a Jew look like, Minda?" she asked.

"Dear me, um," Minda stammered.

Tamara lowered her voice and pointed to herself.

"They look like me," she answered. "I'm a Jew."

Minda smiled flatteringly, her lashes fluttering in a flustered way.

"Bless your heart," she crooned.

She made as if she'd been called away to tend to something, and Tamara turned to Gibbs with raised eyebrows.

"I think I was just snubbed with southern hospitality," she mused.

"Saints alive," Gibbs deadpanned, cocking his own eyebrow.

Tamara leaned back in her seat and whistled and twenty minutes later, Minda started the meeting, brightly avoiding Gibbs' eyes—and since he was still smarting over his daughter's beloved heirloom being called a quirk, he was glad she chose to avoid his searing glare.

* * *

><p>Gibbs finally escaped from the PTA meeting relatively unscathed. He had been roped into manning a lemonade stand at the upcoming Fall Festival, but he wasn't too bitter about it—Minda had been angling to get him to work some sort of cakewalk shenanigans, but Tamara had spoken up and suggested he work the lemonade booth with Minda's husband. It seemed Minda's husband was Army, so Gibbs at least had that to look forward to.<p>

He made it to half of Madeleine's skating lesson—where she didn't fall once—and then took her back to his house where they could play in the backyard with Oz. It had been raining the past few days, and he'd been cooped up in his own little corner in Jenny's kitchen. When it was finally nice and crisply sunny, Gibbs wanted him to stretch his stir-crazy legs.

Madeleine was clumsily throwing a Frisbee with the dog, still trussed up in her tights and velvety skating dress. On skate days, she refused to take off the pretty costume until bath time, which meant the bottom of her tights generally got black and dirty. Gibbs didn't mind; if they got too dirty, her skates hid them anyway.

"I'm glad you get to come to the festival," Madeleine decided brightly. "Catelyn says you can play games and win a goldfish!"

"Who's Catelyn?" Gibbs asked.

"The fifth grader who reads to us during story time," Madeleine answered. "She likes my necklace," she added. "Daddy, can I have a goldfish?"

"If you win one, I'll get you a bowl for it."

"Will Oz eat him?"

"I don't think so. Oz isn't a cat."

Oz came bounding back with the Frisbee and wagged his tail rapidly as he loped up. His head was level with Madeleine's now; he gently nudged her in the forehead and dropped the plastic disc at her feet.

"Oz is too big to be a kitty!" she cooed and hugged his neck before she fumbled with the slobbery Frisbee again.

Gibbs watched her throw it, and leaned forward in the plastic chair he was sitting in.

"Do you know Mindy?"

Madeleine twirled around, swishing her skirt. She rolled her eyes.

"Yes," she answered, frowning a little.

"What's wrong?" Gibbs asked warily.

"Nothin'," drawled Madeleine vaguely. "Mindy wears silly big bows in her hair every single day," she groused. "And she's a little bit mean."

"She's mean to you?" Gibbs asked, narrowing his eyes. "Is she a bully?"

Madeleine shook her head.

"No, she just likes to be the best, so if anyone else wins at a game, she pouts," Madeleine answered. She shrugged. "She didn't like when me and Delia taught the other kids Hebrew or Yiddish. She said you have to speak English in America _always_ or you're a bad guy."

"I hope you didn't believe that, Emmy," Gibbs said carefully.

"Psh," scoffed Madeleine. "No, I just called her a mean name in Hebrew."

Gibbs stifled a laugh into his palm and forced himself not to smirk proudly.

"Don't call her names," he chastised mildly.

"She didn't understand," Madeleine said with a shrug.

"Still," Gibbs grunted. "You aren't a mean girl."

"I don't want to be mean," Madeleine said loftily.

This time, when Oz trotted back with the Frisbee, she ordered him to sit and sat down, sprawling on her back on the grass so he'd get antsy when she didn't get up and start snuffing and whining at her. When he did, she pulled him closer and giggled, wrestling with him in the grass.

Gibbs rolled his eyes and fetched the Frisbee, going to put it up while she tired out the dog rough housing. He left the back door open and went into the kitchen to check on the meat he was thawing out for supper. With the privacy fence that surrounded the backyard, he didn't really worry about Madeleine being right outside and out of his sight—especially if she had the dog with her.

She'd come traipsing in in a minute and demand to know what she was being fed for supper, at which point he'd tell her tonight's feast was grilled chicken and she'd whine that she wanted chicken nuggets and swear she hated grilled chicken until it was in front of her—at which point she'd eat it all as if she'd never complained about it.

Madeleine's dinnertime routine was predictable in that she constantly wanted chicken nuggets and was constantly annoyed she didn't get them, but she wasn't a picky eater, and so her complaining was really harmless and for nothing.

"Daddy," Madeleine yelped, darting into the kitchen. Oz came running after her, his paws scratching on the linoleum. "What's for supper?" Madeleine asked.

"Chicken and rice," he answered seriously.

"But I want chicken nuggets," she said sternly.

He grinned.

* * *

><p>Jenny felt <em>considerably<em> ambushed by her five-year-old daughter. The little girl's eager, demanding face was swallowing up the whole computer screen, and Jenny had no way of avoiding her eyes while she tried to brush off the questions.

"Did your father put you up to this?" she asked meekly, arching an eyebrow.

"Yes," Madeleine answered sassily, as if she saw no reason why that should deter her. "You tell me answers, Ima," she added sharply.

"You're not asking very nicely!" Jenny retorted.

"I did ask nice once, and you did _not_ answer," Madeleine said primly. "You ignored me."

Jenny bit her lip—it was true, she had tried to brush of Madeleine's insistent curiosity about Jethro with a vague sort of segue, but unfortunately the smart little thing hadn't been fooled. Jenny sighed and reclined back in her bed, where she had her laptop. She rubbed her hand over her face.

"MOMMY!" shrieked Madeleine imperatively. "I want to know!"

"Do not yell at me," Jenny returned sternly, pointing a finger and raising an eyebrow. "You know better than to raise your voice at me _or_ your father."

Madeleine reared back and pointed at Gibbs, who had been sitting smugly in the background with a stupid grin on his stupid face, watching Madeleine interrogate Jenny and saying nothing. Jenny shot him a glare, and he put his hands behind his head arrogantly, still just watching with a keen eye. Madeleine bounced in front of her laptop, shaking it so her image wobbled. Jenny groaned and covered her face.

She sighed heavily.

"What _exactly_ did you ask?" she capitulated, resigned.

"When you fell in love with Daddy in Paris," Madeleine repeated rapidly. She beamed and clasped her hands, staring at Jenny expectantly.

Jenny bit her lip and tilted her head back, furrowing her brow. She parted her lips, and the most instinctive answer came to her before she could think about it.

"I _didn't_," she answered honestly, shrugging her shoulders.

She didn't consider until after she'd said it how that would affect Madeleine, and she winced, but Madeleine seemed less concerned with that answer than she was with the idea that Gibbs had lied to her. The kindergartener whirled around and put her hands on her hips, glaring at Gibbs.

"You are a liar, Daddy!" she accused. "Mommy says _no_."

Gibbs leaned forward now, looking outraged.

"You answer her, Jen," he ordered.

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Jenny said, laughing mildly. She shook her head and lifted her shoulders vaguely. "I can't help you, Jethro, it's the truth."

He looked taken aback, and Jenny leaned forward, beckoning Madeleine closer to the screen with her index finger. Madeleine sidled up, her eyes sparkling, and Jenny crinkled her nose.

"You tell your father," she began kindly, "that it was in _Italy_."

Madeleine nodded cutely and pranced off.

"Daddy," she began formally. "Ima says she loved you in Italy."

Madeleine pronounced Italy with an odd sort of Hebrew inflection, and Gibbs tilted his head at her, giving Jenny an intent, mildly curious look. The information wiped the smug look off of his face and ended his little game. He ruffled Madeleine's hair and sent her back to talk to Jenny, still observing thoughtfully.

"Ima," Madeleine said, coming back to the laptop. They had it propped on the sofa, so Madeleine could lean on the sofa and be at eye level with Jenny. Here in Egypt, Jenny was in bed for the night, enjoying the chat before she finally got some sleep.

"Yes, _ahuva_?"

"Pony came over on Thursday, and Oz _bit_ him."

"Oh, no," Jenny sympathized. "I hope you smacked Oz on his nose."

Madeleine giggled.

"It doesn't matter. Oz hates Pony. It's funny," she chattered. "Pony came over to talk to Daddy about a lady."

"Emmy," Gibbs said abruptly. "How do you know that?"

She rolled her eyes.

"I was listening at the stairs, duh," she answered matter-of-factly.

"I told you to get in bed," growled Gibbs.

Madeleine looked at Jenny balefully.

"But he didn't _put_ me in bed," she said wryly.

Jenny burst into laughter. Gibbs sat back with an affronted look on his face and narrowed his eyes at the back of their daughter's head.

"The team comes to talk to Daddy a lot," Madeleine rambled. "Abby says it's 'cause _el Jefe_ knows everything."

Jenny groaned.

"Someone told Daddy he knows everything?" she asked incredulously. "Great."

Madeleine laughed again. She crinkled up her nose.

"Aw, but Daddy knows lots of things, Ima," she said seriously. "He knows answers to people's questions."

Jenny smiled softly, her eyes finding Jethro's over Madeleine's tousled hair. She was glad Madeleine had that sort of adoration for Gibbs, but it made her sad somewhere deep inside—because she'd been like that once, about Colonel Jasper Shepard, and then it had all come crashing down one day. She wondered if Gibbs would ever disappoint Madeleine. She didn't think so, but there were so many unexpected things that could happen, so many ways Madeleine might think her father suddenly looked different than a knight in shining armor—

"Jen," Gibbs was saying, breaking in. "Jen, I've gotta take her to baseball practice."

"Ah," Jenny said, stifling a yawn. "Just as well," she murmured. "I'm beat."

"Tired, Mommy?"

"So tired, baby," Jenny answered sincerely, stretching her arms dramatically.

Gibbs got up and left the room, retrieving something.

"Say goodbye to Mom, Emmy." Jenny heard him say from somewhere in the house.

Madeleine blinked brightly and tilted her head.

"Goodnight, Ima," she said earnestly. "Sleep sweetly," she added, puckering her lips and blowing a pretend kiss.

Jenny obediently pretended to catch it and touched it to her lips pointedly. She wiggled her fingers in a wave goodbye, and in the next moment Jethro's face consumed the screen when he crouched down and handed Madeleine her cleats. He turned to her and arched his eyebrows, and she smiled lightly.

"I need to talk to you," she said mildly, keeping her voice low. "Privately," she clarified, at the expectant look on his face. He arched his eyebrow, and she looked up at the time on her computer screen. "Can you call me while you're watching her play?" she asked.

"You need sleep," retorted Gibbs shortly.

She waved her hand.

"It's important, and you'll need time to think about it," she said.

He narrowed his eyes and a crease of worry appeared at the bridge of his nose. He nodded slowly, looking down to check that Madeleine's shoes were tied, and then he leaned closer, reaching for the laptop's off button.

"Yeah, I'll call you when I get to the field," he agreed gruffly.

She nodded gratefully and said goodbye to Madeleine again.

"Bye, Mommy!" Madeleine's bright voice ran in her ears like music, followed by Jethro's gruff, stern goodbye.

She shut her laptop and turned over, setting her cell phone's ringer to loud, and closing her eyes for a brief nap before she had the next conversation with Jethro—she was anxious to know if he'd agree to her little plan.

* * *

><p>Gibbs chose a secluded seat high up on the bleachers behind Madeleine's dugout to watch the practice and talk to Jenny. He was still grumbling under his breath that she needed to be sleeping, not having secret conversations with him, but her need to talk to him privately intrigued him so he humored her.<p>

"This gonna be a sexy talk?" he drawled, far enough away from other parents so that no one would hear him.

Jenny laughed.

"I highly doubt you'd appreciate me doing that to you at your daughter's baseball practice," she retorted.

"Dunno, Jen, I'm pretty desperate."

"I _was_ just there."

"Yeah, 'bout three months ago," he muttered—and thought it was a sad indictment of their situation that they considered that length of time to be a decent amount between visits. She sighed heavily, lamenting the absence with him, and then he leaned back, eyes in the field, scoping out Madeleine. "Emmy's in the outfield," he said. "I don't have to watch her right now, she's not doin' anything. What's the big secret?"

"It's not a secret exactly, I just don't want to put an idea in Madeleine's head if it doesn't work out," she said hesitantly. "What are your plans for the third week of October?"

Gibbs blinked.

"Jesus, Jen, I don't know," he answered abruptly. "That's, what, three weeks off? Week before Halloween?"

"Yes," she answered. She gave him the dates, and he frowned, nodding to himself. "Do you have plans?"

"I never have plans," Gibbs answered dryly, snorting a little. "I'm at work, or I'm with Madeleine. That's my life," he explained.

"Your poor boat," Jenny said smugly, laughing a little. "It must be missing you."

"It's not missing the chips Emmy puts in it," Gibbs groused. He fell silent, waiting patiently, and she didn't need prompting to continue.

"I'm going to be stateside that weekend," she revealed, and he straightened a little, a sort of excitement rising in his chest. He shot a quick glance at Madeleine, still in the outfield—actually, she was picking daisies in the outfield, to the chagrin of her coach—and then gave his full attention to Jenny.

"Here?" he asked eagerly.

"Ah, well," she said, apologetic for misleading him. "I'll be in Los Angeles," she said.

Gibbs glowered.

"Los Angeles," he growled. "Damn Hollywood agents. What're you doing there?"

"There's a sort of summit," she answered. "Most Assistant Directors will be there, as well as some of the small European and African bases' supervisory agents."

Gibbs pretended to be affronted.

"I'm a supervisory agent," he whined. "Why aren't I invited?"

Jenny gave a bark of laughter.

"Because the SecNav will be there," she retorted. "And I believe he hates you."

"You're kidding?" Gibbs asked smugly, not offended at all—rather proud, actually.

"I believe his exact words to me when I discussed my, ah, motherhood situation with him were 'that hotshot media nightmare bastard guy in D.C.?'" she quoted.

Gibbs laughed. He had no idea the SecNav even knew who he was, but if his reputation was that much of a headache for the political higher-ups, he was obviously doing something right. He shrugged to himself and relaxed a little.

"You think you could take a quick trip to L.A.?" Jenny asked hopefully. "Even a few days would be nice, don't you think?"

Gibbs grunted uncertainly. His vacation time was stretched tight.

"Jen," he began reluctantly.

"It would only be for a day or so," she interrupted earnestly. "I'm going to be at that office for the conference from Sunday morning to Wednesday evening. You and Madeleine could drop in early Sunday and fly back Monday night."

Gibbs reached up and rubbed his jaw.

"I need to save my days for emergencies," he said warily. "I don't have the time racked up like I used to, not since I kept using so much to go Israel," he explained, even though she knew all of this already. "It's just me, so if she gets sick or something, I need to be able to take off immediately," he paused wryly, "since you didn't like the idea of me throwin' her to Diane."

Jenny sighed.

"Okay," she said calmly. "I understand that, and I figured you might have that problem," she seemed to hesitate. "So I had a back-up plan, and it's the one you're going to freak out about."

"I'm not sending her across the country alone," he growled immediately.

"_Of course you're not_!" Jenny snapped fiercely, appalled he'd even think she'd suggest such a thing. "She's only a Kindergartener, I don't want her alone on a plane either!" she laughed in disbelief, and seemed to relax. If that's what he was worried about, maybe her idea would seem sane— "How would you feel about letting Noemi bring her to see me?"

Gibbs said nothing. He narrowed his eyes, letting the idea sink in.

"If Noemi brings her, she can see me the whole time I'm here, from Sunday to Wednesday, and Noemi can watch her on the day I have meetings," Jenny explained. "I'd pay Noemi's ticket, naturally, and I'd provide her a hefty bonus for her trouble, but she's trustworthy."

"She's a housekeeper," Gibbs said warily. He meant nothing rude in the observation—he had a lot to thank Noemi for, and he appreciated everything she did for Madeleine and himself when they stayed at Jenny's place, but she was still a woman with whom he was not intimately familiar to the point of casually allowing her to escort his daughter to the western seaboard.

"I really want to see Madeleine, Jethro," Jenny said in a small voice. "I don't—I don't want to put this on you, or guilt you but I think it would help with my nightmares. I've talked to Ducky about them, and with the psychiatrist in Los Angeles, but I think just interacting with her would help so much, now that I'm dealing with it and moving past the stress. And I miss her, you know how that is. It's so much harder since I had that taste of being with her, and you, in June."

Gibbs listened to her quietly, mulling over her words. He related painfully to the kind of thing she was suffering. He knew what she meant when she said it was harder after the visits, and for her, it must be terrible. She hadn't seen Madeleine in a year until June, and at least Gibbs had managed a visit at six-month points.

"You think Noemi is that trustworthy?" he asked carefully.

"I know you don't know her as well as I do," Jenny said honestly. "But she's always been a part of my life. She wasn't my housekeeper when I was little, Jethro, she was my nanny. My father used to leave her in charge of me when he was on deployments. It was just she and I most of the time, and she could do that then because her sons and her husband weren't in the US yet, she was sending that money back to them. Now, I know you'd prefer to send Madeleine with an agent, but unless you can spare Kate Todd," Jenny laughed a little, "Noemi is the next best thing."

Gibbs grinned in spite of himself. He knew his prolonged silences were making Jenny nervous, but he was busy doing some quick work on his psyche to convince himself he was comfortable with this so he could make it work for Jenny.

"These meetings in L.A.," Jenny confided quietly, "they could be really significant. Morrow has wanted to remove me from my position in Cairo; he thinks the hostage crisis made me too vulnerable to identification. I'll be looking over candidates for my job, Jethro," she paused. "I can't tell you anything much; I don't know anything myself, but there's a possible regime change coming in D.C.," she revealed. "I might be offered Leon Vance's position in California."

Gibbs gripped the phone tightly. California—it seemed so _close_, it seemed like his backyard compared to Tel Aviv or Cairo. In fact, Jenny living in a different state seemed almost easy to manage compared to her living in a different country. If she came to California and that became permanent, Madeleine could even spend summers with her mother at the least and—if he had to, if it came to that, Gibbs could move out there—but he was getting ahead of himself.

He took a slow breath.

"What are the dates again?" he asked slowly.

She repeated herself.

He frowned, thinking.

"That's the weekend before her Fall Festival," he muttered to himself. That was good, because Madeleine wouldn't want to miss her festival—and she wouldn't want to miss Halloween. Halloween was on a Monday this year, but she'd be back on the Thursday before it. "I'll have to pull her from Kindergarten for a few days," he conceded.

He could practically feel Jenny's excitement radiating through the phone.

"This means so much to me, Jethro!" she breathed happily, her voice choking. "I know how protective you are and I know this is a big step, but you—have no idea—!"

"I do, Jen, I know," he soothed gruffly. "'Course I'd let her come see you," he added, feeling a bit sheepish about his initial hesitation. It seemed absurd to him that he had even for a second thought Noemi wasn't a perfectly capable chaperone. Particularly since at one time in her life, Madeleine had been in the sole care of a teenager in Israel, albeit a mature one.

"She won't miss anything in school?" Jenny asked earnestly.

"No," he laughed lightly. "She's in Kindergarten, she might miss out on a damn nap or two," he joked.

"Well, Kindergarten's pretty serious these days," Jenny returned. "They're hardcore on reading."

"Emmy can already read," Gibbs scoffed truthfully. "She'll be fine missing a few days. I'll call the school Monday morning and let 'em know pretty far ahead of time."

It sounded like Jenny squealed like a schoolgirl, and Gibbs broke into a grin again. He looked up and saw that the little scrimmage baseball teams were switching sides.

"She's gonna bat soon," he said. "I got to watch 'er," he added. "You hang up and get some sleep."

"Jethro," Jenny said, before he could hang up. "Will you—could you surprise her with it? The trip to see me?"

"A little," he agreed. "I can't spring it on her last minute, you know, tell her it's happening and then pack her off. That'll upset her. But I'll wait until a few days before."

Jenny laughed.

"It works," she said happily. "It works."

They said their goodbyes and hung up, and Gibbs clutched the cell phone in his fist on his knees, turning his attention to Madeleine's batting practice and finding himself anxious to see her surprised reaction as well.

* * *

><p>They had a rare weekend duty, and Madeleine was playing in McGee's desk. The team was bored, and the Geek was down in the cyber unit helping run virus scans on some of the young new guys' computers. DiNozzo was busy making loud suggestions that the cyber unit keep McGee and make him the McBatman of their weird techie bat cave, Kate was absorbed in the tax files she was auditing for one of their open cases, and Gibbs was doing—something.<p>

Gibbs was always doing something even when it looked like _nothing_.

"You find anything hinky in McGee's desk, Maddie?" DiNozzo drawled, peeking over at her.

Madeleine flopped back in McGee's chair, playing with a Rubik's Cube. She held it up and squinted at it.

"Has Timmy ever made all the colours on the same sides?" she asked curiously.

"Probably," Kate remarked mildly. She shrugged. "He's that genius type," she added.

DiNozzo looked smug.

"Bet I can do it," he challenged.

Kate snorted loudly.

"I bet you can't," she retorted. "And I would bet my life against it."

DiNozzo looked significantly affronted.

"I guess you'll end up dead then, Kate," he said suavely, holding out his palm. "Let me solve it, Mads."

Madeleine threw him the Rubik's Cube and scooted back up, ruffling through McGee's top drawer again. DiNozzo put all of his effort into fiddling with the toy, his tongue between his teeth in concentration.

"Are you making a mess, Madeleine?" Gibbs asked from behind his computer.

"No," she answered, as she picked up a tin in the drawer and dumped it over. Kate snickered softly, and Madeleine peered up warily. "I shall pick it up," she amended her statement.

Gibbs made a noise that implied he didn't believe her but didn't reprimand her any further. She had already been through the thin drawer under McGee's desk. He'd had only boring office things in there. The big drawers were more fun. There was a change of clothes in the bottom one—Madeleine thought it was funny that Timmy's name was sewn into his underwear—and in the second one there were snacks and a Gameboy and some paper with lots of typing all over it that had big words Madeleine didn't know yet.

She'd stolen a Nutter Butter from the second drawer and moved on to the first, which was all jumbled and not at all as organized as the others. It had mostly office stuff and odds and ends of inane entertainment, as well. There were two old cell phones—Madeleine didn't know it, but they were both phones that Gibbs had discarded at some point—and there was a furry dead rabbit's foot. Madeleine didn't like the rabbit's foot.

She pushed around some more things until she found a soft black velvet box that looked interesting. She picked it up and sat back on her knees, spinning in McGee's desk chair as she ran her fingers over it. She glanced around; no one was paying attention to her, so she smirked sneakily and popped it open.

There was a pretty ring inside.

"Daddy," she piped up innocently. "What's this?"

She held it up so Gibbs could look over his computer. He squinted to see what she was holding, then narrowed his eyes. Kate looked up and tilted her head uncertainly, parting her lips, but when DiNozzo lazily looked up to see and caught sight of it, he flew out of his chair and over to McGee's desk, bending down eye-level with the ring.

"What did you find, Maddie?" he asked rapidly. "What is that? Is that a ring? In Probie's desk?" he fired off.

Madeleine giggled at his excitement and nodded. She held it up in her palm, looking at it, and DiNozzo cocked his head. Gibbs stood up, leaning on his desk to get a closer look—no, it was more like a closer glare.

"Whoa," murmured DiNozzo, eyes wide. "That's a weird ring."

"Let me see," Kate squealed, leaping up and darting over to the desk. She crouched closer and looked at the ring in Madeleine's hand, and she too, arched her brows and widened her eyes.

"Whoa," she repeated.

It was glistening silver, that much was obvious, but the band was a twisting serpent with miniscule green flecks of emerald peppering its tiny carved scales. The head of the serpent curled around to the top and rose up a little, and atop its head rested a small spider web, at the center of which was the main stone—a black widow spider. There were small diamonds in each point of the web.

"Creepy, right?" DiNozzo asked, nudging Kate with a distasteful look.

"No," Kate said honestly, letting out a breath. "It's perfect."

"You'd _like_ something like that?" DiNozzo squawked, taken aback.

Kate shook her head though.

"No," she said again. She held out her hand. "But look at it. Abby would adore it. And it's obviously an engagement ring for _her_."

DiNozzo reeled back, spluttering. Gibbs prowled over, taking the ring and holding it up, a sort of protective, aggressive feeling rising in his chest. He felt strangely as if McGee should have asked his permission to propose to Abby, but he also knew that was absurd. They were both adults, and Abby wasn't even part of his team.

"That isn't what engagement rings are supposed to look like!" whined DiNozzo.

"Abby isn't want forensic scientists are supposed to look like," Kate pointed out logically. She peered at the ring in Gibb's palm. "I think it's perfect," she repeated, her face sparkling suddenly. "Oh, I wonder when he's going to ask her."

"Why hasn't he told me?" DiNozzo demanded, affronted.

"What have you got to do with it?" Kate retorted. "It's his personal business."

"McProposal's personal business is my business!" DiNozzo retorted.

"Timmy is going to marry Abby?" Madeleine asked Gibbs, tilting her head. She leaned back and raised her brows, looking sweet and hopeful.

Gibbs wasn't sure how to answer her. Proposals didn't necessarily always mean marriage, but he wasn't about to tell Madeleine her own mother had rejected a proposal once. He raised his eyebrows.

"Looks like it," he said gruffly. "If Abby says yes."

The elevator pinged, and Kate leapt back, looking guilty. Gibbs looked around warily, too dignified to stash the ring, and DiNozzo was caught somewhere between gleeful and idiotic as he tried to bound innocently back to his seat.

"Uh," McGee said, slowing to a stop as he entered the bullpen. "What are you doing in my desk?" he asked—he didn't exactly direct the question to Gibbs, but Gibbs was the closest to it.

Caught red-handed for Madeleine's snooping, Gibbs turned to McGee and revealed that he was holding the ring. McGee's face turned red, starting with his ears and ending with the tip of his nose, and he looked down, starting to splutter. Kate smiled at him, and DiNozzo hopped up from his desk again.

"What's the blush for, McFiance?" he asked loudly, the grin on his lips looming in McGee's face. "When are you gonna ask her to be your McBride?"

McGee looked utterly embarrassed, and Gibbs closed the ring, taking pity on him. He walked over to the young agent and pressed the velvet box into his hand in a sort of firm handshake.

"You do right by her, Tim," he said gruffly.

DiNozzo grinned like a Cheshire and picked up something from his desk.

"Hey, Kate," he called, chucking the object at her.

She put up her hands defensively and managed to catch—the Rubik's cube. Her brows shot up.

"Day of miracles, isn't it?" DiNozzo asked smugly. "McGee's got a permanent lady before me, and I won our little bet."

He pointed arrogantly at the solved Rubik's cube, and then shaped his thumb and forefinger into a mock gun and mimed shooting her playfully in the forehead.

Kate rolled her eyes and chucked the perfectly completed toy right back into his gut.

* * *

><p>Abby was highly amused by the Gibbs-like look on Madeleine's face. The Kindergartener was baffled by Kate's over-the-top squealing, and Abby's buoyant exclamations and excitement weren't making the situation any better, but neither woman could help their profuse giddiness.<p>

Abby had Madeleine for the afternoon while Gibbs planned some sneaky surprise with Noemi, and as it just happened to be the morning after the best night of her life, she'd called Kate and made her come to lunch with them.

The squealing was provoked by the shiny, perfect engagement ring Abby was sporting.

"Tell me everything," Kate said, handing Abby her hand back. "_Everything_. I've been dying to see that on your finger since Madeleine found it in Tim's desk!"

"Oh," Abby laughed, reaching over to Madeleine and tousling her hair. "Yeah, Timmy told me this little spy blew his secret to all of you. I'm surprised Tony didn't spoil it!" she said brightly.

"Tim got brave and threatened his manhood," Kate divulged wickedly. "Gibbs backed him up, too, said ruining a proposal was the number one way to get an ass kicking."

"Aw, Gibbs!" squealed Abby, and Madeleine gave a smug smile of pride. She picked at the kids' meal they'd ordered for her at the restaurant and remained silent, entranced by the older women squealing.

"And I thought you guys were going to break up!" Kate said.

Abby looked sheepish.

"I was just anxious," she said blithely. "When we had that conversation—that was months ago, anyway," she added, waving her hand. "I'd just never thought I'd marry someone and when I thought about marrying Tim and I wanted to, I freaked out, so I thought I should break up with him—stupid logic, right?"

"It's _DiNozzo_ logic," Kate offered dryly, and Abby laughed again, in a brilliant mood. "Anyway! Details!" Kate exclaimed urgently.

"Details, Abby," Madeleine parroted, raising her eyebrows. "Timmy gave you the ring, so we can talk about it now!"

"Yes," Abby said, nodding proudly. "Yes, we can talk—well, _Timmy_ did well," she bragged. "He knows me so well. We did our usual date night, you know, video games, a movie with bad science that we both love but mock ceaselessly—"

"Which one?"

"Kate, do you really need to know everything?"

"Yes!"

"_Back to the Future_," Abby relented, smirking. "The first one," she added, clarifying details. "Then, he wheedled me into going to pick up late-night Chinese from our favorite place and a few pints of ice cream, suggesting something about an all-night video game marathon," Abby paused and grinned. "When I came back, all the lights were off. When I moved into my bedroom looking for him, the lights flipped on," she spread out her hands. "Spider webs _everywhere_, those cotton kind from Halloween? And my favorite death metal song, from Brain Matter, and he'd rigged it so when I stepped in the room I set off a light and my coffin popped open," Abby paused dramatically.

The look on Kate's face was a mixture of delight and amusement; the proposal already sounded so weird and off the wall and so completely perfect for Abby.

"Did a monster come out of the coffin?" Madeleine gasped.

"No, but McGee did!" Abby told her, arching her brows. "Full Dracula garb, with the ring. And he gave a cheesy speech with lots of vampire puns. Sorry, that part's my secret," she explained, waving her hand with a slight blush. "And—well, I said yes, obviously," she wiggled the finger with the ring on it, "and we didn't play video games all night," she added in a low voice. "If you know what I mean."

"Abby!" hissed Kate, pointing vaguely at Madeleine.

Abby just giggled, well aware that Madeleine didn't understand. Madeleine looked at her brightly, and Abby lowered to her eye-level, smiling.

"You get it, princess?" she asked. "I'm going to marry Timmy!"

Madeleine beamed sweetly. She bounced a little in her seat.

"Does that mean Pony will marry Kate?" she asked.

Kate laughed loudly.

"No. Oh, _no_ sweetie," she said. "_No_."

Madeleine cocked her head, and Abby laughed at the startled look on her little face. The Goth reached out and took Madeleine's hand, kissing it gallantly and crinkling her nose secretively.

"You'll be my little flower zombie, right?" she asked.

Madeleine squealed and nodded, though she had no idea what she was agreeing to—she just knew she loved flowers.

"Can I have daises? Daises are my favorite!"

"I'll splatter paint some black on them," Abby said with a wink.

Kate, meanwhile, cocked her eyebrow.

"Flower _zombie_?" she quoted.

Abby nodded seriously. She was absolutely not joking when she answered:

"It's going to be a zombie theme wedding."

* * *

><p>"Oz," Madeleine commanded sternly. "Oz, you drop it!"<p>

The dog immediately released the tug-of-war toy he'd been holding tightly in his mouth and panted with disappointment, wagging his tail at Madeleine hopefully.

"Sit, boy," Madeleine said. Oz sat, and Madeleine giggled, wriggling the toy under his nose. "Fetch," she ordered, tossing it towards the kitchen.

The St. Bernard bounded off to retrieve the toy, and Madeleine turned back to Gibbs, hanging on his knee as she watched him look over her simple workbook page of homework. It had six easy math problems, four writing exercises, and a reading passage on it. Gibbs was checking the work for her.

"Can I be done with school now?" Madeleine asked hopefully.

"Hang on," he muttered, tapping the paper with her pencil. "Number seven, eight-plus-four. That's not eleven," he said mildly. He turned to her and raised his eyebrows.

Madeleine frowned. She waved her hand.

"Do it for me."

"No," Gibbs drawled. "Here, it's not too hard. Watch," he put the paper down and put his feet up on the table. "Ten toes, right?"

She nodded.

"Ten plus two?" he asked.

"Twelve," she answered obediently.

"Ten minus two?" he asked.

"Eight," she answered.

He arched his eyebrow at her, and then adjusted his feet so that the big toes were tucked under the table and she couldn't see them.

"You see eight toes, right?"

He put four of his fingers on his foot.

"Now how many?"

She looked at the appendages for a moment.

"Twelve!" she cried excitedly. "Eight plus four is twelve!"

Gibbs nodded and handed her back the paper.

"Fix it, and then you can watch your Star Wars thing," he conceded. She grabbed for the paper and erased furiously, smiling smugly at her success.

Gibbs got up from the couch and went back into the kitchen to finish cleaning up from supper. Oz dashed by him, prancing back to his little mistress with the toy in his mouth. Madeleine started giggling again, and the television came on. She messed with the clicker until she found her channel, and Gibbs was able to finish the dishes in peace.

"Daddy," Madeleine came in during a commercial, right as he was drying his hands. "I only got one math problem wrong?"

"Yep, only one," he answered.

She preened.

"We have a math game on Monday; maybe I'll win," she said, bouncing on her heels. "Can I have some grape juice?"

"No, you can have water or unsweet tea," he answered, opening the refrigerator. She'd had grape juice for dinner, and he didn't allow sugary things after seven.

She shrugged.

"Tea," she decided, and he poured her a small glass. He glanced at her sideways and grinned, handing her the cup and indicating she should go into the living room.

He sat down on the couch with her.

"You won't be at school on Monday, Maddie," he said wryly, giving her a sly look.

She tilted her head, frowning.

"I won't?" she asked. "Will I be sick? I don't want to be sick."

"No, you won't be sick," Gibbs soothed. "You better not. In fact, you're gonna miss Tuesday and Wednesday, too."

Madeleine raised her eyebrows sassily.

"It's important to go to school," she said matter-of-factly.

Gibbs nodded.

"I think you might like this little break better," he shared with her, taking her hands and pulling her to stand in front of him. He leaned forward and arched his brows. "You're going to California," he informed her.

"What's California?"

"It's another place in America, a state like Virginia. Except it's all the way across the country. And you're going to go there for a visit."

"But _why_?" Madeleine asked uncertainly. "Did I do something wrong, so I have to go away?"

"No," Gibbs ruffled her hair. "You're going to California because your mom's visiting there, and I'm sending you to go see her," he revealed.

Madeleine blinked at him, and then her mouth dropped open.

"I get to see _Mommy_?"

"You get to see Mommy!"

She shrieked and began jumping up and down, so that Oz dropped the toy he was chewing on aggressively and stared at her, tail thumping. He let out an excited bark, and Madeleine launched herself into Gibbs' lap, getting up on her knees.

He laughed.

"Are you coming too?" she asked hopefully.

"I can't," he apologized, patting her cheek softly. "I have to work. Noemi is going to take care of you on the plane. Is that too scary for you?"

"_No_, I'm not _scared_," Madeleine retorted bravely. She pushed at his chest excitedly. "I get to see Mommy," she repeated in wonder.

She threw her arms around him and hugged him tight.

* * *

><p>Even at the ungodly hour of six a.m., both Gibbs and Madeleine were wide-awake Sunday morning. Madeleine was hyper with excitement about her trip to California; Gibbs was tense about the whole thing. He couldn't see them off past security; since September Eleventh, goodbyes had to be said before people went through security. There was no more waiting at the gate.<p>

Noemi was pleasant and collected and thankfully adept at handling carryon bags and Madeleine's wildness.

"You say _adios_ to your Papa, _chiquita_," Noemi instructed sweetly.

Madeleine dove at Gibbs' legs and hugged him, burying her face in his knees. He crouched down and disentangled her, looking at her in the eye.

"Emmy," he said seriously, taking her face gently in his palms. "Emmy, you promise me you'll behave for your mother," he told her firmly. "You'll do what she tells you, and you won't throw fits or talk back to her, you got it?"

She nodded eagerly, reaching up and grasping his arms. He did not let her pull his hands away from her face. He gave her a stern look for a moment, and then nodded to himself, satisfied that she'd try her best to be easy on Jen.

"And you never let go of Noemi's hand in this airport or in California, not until you have Mommy's hand to hold, okay?"

"_Okay_," Madeleine whined, antsy to get moving. She wriggled a little, her feet dancing, and he sighed. He knew he needed to speed it up and let her go.

"C'mere," he muttered, pulling her close for a tight, protective hug. He put his hand on the back of her head and just held her for a minute, unable to stop himself thinking about how much he _hated_ California. "Be good," he said gruffly, in a quiet voice by her ear. "I love you, Emmy Jane."

"I love you, too," she giggled right back, squirming out of his grip.

She grabbed Noemi's hand pointedly and waved. Noemi assured him she'd take excellent care of the child and they were off, weaving through security. Gibbs watched until they were through the metal detectors and out of his sight line, and then he turned and trudged out of the airport, positive he wouldn't rest easy until she was home again.

* * *

><p>Madeleine held true to Gibbs' command that she hold tight to Noemi's hand until the moment she saw her mother outside LAX. Noemi was left to shuffle together the cute duffle bag and backpack the little girl abandoned as she darted off shouting.<p>

"Madeleine!" Jenny cried, bending down to catch her daughter as she launched herself forward. "Madeleine," she said again, sweeping her up and holding her close. She laughed hoarsely. "You left all your things for poor Noemi; that wasn't very polite!"

She was too happy to be really forceful in her reprimand, and Noemi was smiling uncaringly anyway. She trekked along with the luggage easily, as there was only Madeleine's little duffle and backpack, plus Noemi's carryon bag and rolling suitcase.

Madeleine clung tightly to Jenny's neck, her legs wrapped firmly around her mother's waist. Jenny stroked her hair, unable to stop smiling. She stood there until Noemi had time to catch up and gave her beloved housekeeper an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry she did that," she said.

"No, no problem, Senora, she just so excited! I smile to see it," Noemi said warmly, adjusting Madeleine's bags on her shoulders.

Jenny kissed Madeleine's head lovingly and pushed her hair back. She crouched and put Madeleine back on her own two feet.

"Here," she said, taking Madeleine's things from Noemi. "I'll take these. Madeleine, hold my hand. There's lots of traffic here, and no one can see little girls very well."

Madeleine was more than glad to grasp Jenny's hand as if she would never let go, and Jenny had the overwhelming urge to drop everything and sweep her into her arms again. For some reason, even though she'd seen her three months ago, it felt like so _much_ longer.

"How was the flight?" Jenny asked Noemi.

"Oh, it was fine, it fine," Noemi said airily. "Chiquita, she travel so well. She behave and she not even cry when her ears pop, just cover them and close her eyes!"

"Did your ears pop, Madeleine?" Jenny asked.

"Just a little. I swallowed a lot, like Daddy said to," she informed Jenny. "Ima, you can call me Maddie or Emmy, everybody does that now," she added.

"I _like_ calling you Madeleine," Jenny said with a light shrug. She smiled as she eyed the area, looking around for a cab to grab back to their hotel.

"Ima, why are you so dressy?" Madeleine asked. "It's so _early_!"

"Well," Jenny began, looking at her watch. She tapped on a cab's window and the driver got out, leaping to help them with their bags. "It's about ten o'clock in the morning here, and I had a meeting at seven."

"My plane was at seven!" Madeleine piped up.

"When it was seven for you, it was four a.m. for me!" Jenny revealed. She slid into the cab and indicated Madeleine should get in with her; she and Noemi buckled her up between them. Jenny didn't like that there was no car seat, but the hotel wasn't far from the airport. "But the time got all jumbled when you flew across country, and I had my meeting already, _super_ early."

"Senor Gibbs say you fly in to California this morning, Senora," Noemi remarked earnestly. "And you have meeting already?"

Jenny sighed.

"Unfortunately," she said dryly, slipping her arm around Madeleine's shoulders and hugging her to her side. She gave some quick instructions to the cab driver and cleared her throat. "I took a midnight flight out of Cairo, got ready for the meeting at an L.A. agent's apartment, and went straight to the meeting."

"Oh, my, my," murmured Noemi, clicking her tongue. "You work too hard, Senora," she said, as she had told Jenny many, many times before.

Jenny smiled and rubbed Madeleine's shoulder, looking down at her. Madeleine tilted her head up.

"Do you have to work more today?" she asked quietly.

"No," Jenny said with a smile. "No, ahuva, I have all day with you, and just three meetings on Monday. Other than that, I'm yours."

Madeleine leaned over and hugged her, a smile breaking over her face again.

* * *

><p>His anxiety over sending Emmy on a cross-country flight with Jenny's housekeeper was pushed to the back of his mind when the mail arrived the next morning. It was a damn good thing he knew Jen had gotten Madeleine safely at the gate and she was happily exploring the coast, because it gave him leave to focus completely on the fact that DiNozzo might have just blown anthrax all over everyone.<p>

Trapped in biological lockdown in autopsy, Gibbs was struggling not to go completely ballistic on DiNozzo for forgetting his federal training first off when he'd failed to hand the unmarked envelope directly to Gibbs and second of all when he'd casually blown an unknown substance into the air like it was _nothing_.

They had already spent half an hour scrubbing themselves raw in the sanitation showers—and Gibbs despised the sanitation showers. Any incident that involved them had never turned out well, and this didn't seem to be any different. McGee had spent all of his time stumbling and using all of his energy not to look at Kate, while Gibbs had to spend all of his energy to stop DiNozzo from leering at Kate so she could get some damn privacy while she got into her sterilized jump suit—it was a rare moment when he lamented the necessity of female agents.

It was bad enough he'd just found out that mysterious box of honey dust last Christmas had been from DiNozzo due to a post office screw up; it was worse that he was currently being subjected to having blood drawn when he could be upstairs kicking some ass.

"You should have given the letter to me, McGee," he growled.

"I know, Boss," McGee said dejectedly, pacing past him.

"It's not McGee's fault," Kate said testily, her nose red from her cold. "Tony snatched it out of his hand."

"So now it's my bad?" DiNozzo asked tensely, and Gibbs had half a mind to head slap him into the next _era_.

"You did grab it, Tony," McGee said bravely.

"Lame excuse, Probie, you should have stopped me," DiNozzo retorted—but it was clear he felt guilty, and he wasn't taking the matter lightly.

Gibbs rolled his eyes and stood up, yanking down his sleeve and storming towards the autopsy doors. Ducky dashed over nimbly and ducked in front of him, giving him a stern look.

"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded.

"To find out who sent that letter," Gibbs retorted brazenly.

"Ah ah ah! You cannot leave autopsy; it's negative pressure," Ducky quoted procedure at him, "so airborne pathogens can't contaminate the rest of the building."

"Ducky," Gibbs barked, raising his voice. "I have been scrubbed, sanitized, for all I know—_sterilized_—"

"No siblings for Maddie, then," DiNozzo muttered—and Gibbs ignored him and went on.

"I have an investigation to open!"

"I have a possible contagion to contain," Ducky said, cool and logical. "Until your blood test clears you, I cannot permit you to leave this room."

Gibbs turned a hard glare on him, and before he could decide if he wanted to surrender or shove Ducky out of his way, the back autopsy receiving doors opened and men in cumbersome Haz-Mat suits burst in.

"Who opened the envelope?" one demanded in a filtered, serious tone.

"He did," DiNozzo drawled, pointing at McGee.

McGee turned in a panic as the men began to converge on him.

"No, no! It wasn't me!"

"I'm just kiddin'," DiNozzo said smoothly, sliding off his autopsy slab. "I'm your pincushion."

"Did you inhale _any powder_?"

"I might have," DiNozzo said wryly, his usual suave expression on his face.

"We took blood," Ducky said, as Jimmy handed off the samples and listed information to the leader of the men in suits. Kate interrupted his monologue with a loud sneeze and didn't notice for a moment that suddenly all of the suits were looking at her with grave suspicion.

"It's a cold," she said mildly. "I had it _before_ I came in this morning," she added tensely.

"Which makes you even more susceptible to airborne pathogens," Ducky said slowly. "You should go to the hospital too," he advised.

Kate blanched.

"Oh, no," she demurred.

"Kate," Gibbs said harshly, storming towards them. "Play it safe; go with Tony."

She scoffed heavily.

"That's safe?" she asked derisively.

Gibbs gave her a quiet look and jerked his head pointedly. She rolled her eyes and hopped off her slab.

"How long are we going to have to stay in isolation?" Kate asked tiredly.

"At least overnight."

"Do you have double beds?" DiNozzo leered. "'Cause I hate it when you get the crease when you push the two—"

Gibbs whacked him hard in the back of the head—for the sexual innuendo, and for making this harder for Kate than it already was. DiNozzo turned on him, shaking his head in shock.

"If I get anthrax, how will you feel?" he asked indignantly.

"Not as bad as you, DiNozzo," Gibbs retorted coolly.

The Haz-Mats drew Kate and Tony, bickering all the way, with them out the back doors. Gibbs watched them go, his gut churning, and turned to face Ducky again. The M.E., in his determination, folded his arms and blocked the exit to autopsy. Gibbs glared and turned, slamming his hands down on the nearest autopsy slab.

He needed something to do, and he needed something to fixate on, because he did not want to wallow in autopsy waiting for a blood test to tell him if he was never going to see his daughter again before he was dead of some ridiculous, weird biological weapon.

* * *

><p>Gibbs glared angrily at the screen before him, as precious time slipped through their fingers.<p>

"What was the powder, Abby?"

"White? With a hint of tan," Abby answered slyly.

"Abs!" he shouted.

"Well, that's all I know until my baby speaks to me! I'm auto-sampling for anthrax, botulism, plague, cholera, all those nasty little bio buggers—"

"How long?" he interrupted curtly.

"Couple hours."

"I thought you said these tests were fast!"

"It's not a pregnancy test, Gibbs," Abby said earnestly, apology clear in her voice. "Look, I'm busy looking over the SWAK right now—"

"SWAK?" he interrupted, derisive, and rudely cutting her off again.

"It's sealed with a kiss, Gibbs," Abby said calmly. "Didn't you ever get a love letter?" she asked girlishly.

He rolled his eyes and turned away from the screen, struck cynical suddenly. His aggression was doing nothing to faze Abby, and he was bitter with frustration.

"Does a _Dear John_ count?" he snapped.

"Aw, Gibbs," cooed Abby. "I feel so sorry for you—but hey, that didn't last long, did it?"

Gibbs turned around sharply.

"How do you know it was her?" he demanded without thinking, taken aback that Abby had that information, and momentarily forgetting that McGee was in the room. Ducky, he didn't care so much about; Ducky was bound to have figured out something had gone wrong between them when Gibbs came back alone.

Abby arched an eyebrow.

"A lady never reveals her sources," she said smoothly.

"Maddie's mother?" McGee asked quietly.

Ducky said something under his breath.

"You got a question, McGee?" asked Gibbs loudly.

"Uh, no, Boss."

"Is there a return address?" Gibbs asked, plowing on, facing Abby down harshly.

"Twenty-seven Old Mill Bottom Road Annapolis, Maryland," Abby read off helpfully.

Gibbs sent McGee to write down the information and turned to Jimmy.

"Requisition replacement cell phones and weapons for my team. Go," he ordered sternly, interrupting whatever the assistant was saying.

"Pistols?" Jimmy asked dumbly.

"Well, no, Palmer. Crossbows if you think they might work better," Gibbs retorted sarcastically.

He turned and ordered Abby to open the letter within the envelope, while McGee whined about having to use a pad and pencil instead of an electronic device to write his notes. Abby opened the letter, and Gibbs listened to she and Ducky muse over the calligraphy and the paper—Ducky was flaunting his authority to leave by going up to Abby's lab to assist while Gibbs was trapped in autopsy still. Abby looked over the letter and told Gibbs its elite design would make it easy for her to identify the manufacturer.

In a clear voice, Ducky began to read the letter—and Gibbs listened as ominous conditions were read out; the letter was an anonymous demand for them to solve some case, to right some wrong the Navy had committed.

"The powder contained in this envelope is genetically altered _y_._pestis_," Ducky read off, and paused ominously.

"Which is Latin," Gibbs prompted bluntly. "For what?"

He wasn't exactly prepared for Ducky's answer.

"_Plague_," the doctor said slowly, and Gibbs stared at the screen, his mouth open.

"The envelope contained bubonic plague?" he asked, resisting the urge to bang his head against a wall.

Plague, _plague—plague?_ What kind of day was he having that he walked into the office and breathed in a medieval pandemic killer? It wasn't exactly that he was feeling panic, but he was getting increasingly anxious that this situation was about to go from bad to worse; he and McGee might not be in danger, but DiNozzo had basically snorted this stuff and if any of it had gotten into his bloodstream—

"Pneumonic is more likely," Ducky said coolly.

"There's more than one?" Gibbs demanded, exasperated.

"Oh, there are three, actually," Ducky said conversationally. "But pneumonic is by far the most dangerous since it can be spread simply by breathing the particles."

"Tony must have breathed in some of it," Gibbs muttered to himself, while Abby chimed in optimistically.

"It may not be alive. needs a host or moisture for it to survive more than a few hours."

"Plus," McGee said, "It was irradiated when it when through the mail, boss."

"I got honey dust for Christmas, McGee!" snapped Gibbs, unconvinced.

"I'll narrow my tests to pneumonic ," Abby said, but Ducky interrupted her—and read a part of the letter they'd neglected to get to yet.

This strain, it seemed, was genetically altered to resist all antibiotics.

"Give Bethesda a heads up," Gibbs ordered tensely. The hospital needed to know what they were dealing with when it came to DiNozzo and Kate. "A SWAK does not mean this bitch isn't a bastard," Gibbs growled.

Abby finished reading the letter.

So as it stood—they had to wait on the CDC in Atlanta for a result that would take twelve hours. The virus had an incubation period of a day, and there was a window of thirty-two hour in which a magic bullet could be administered to fix anyone who was infected—but they didn't know who had it, and the ransom for the so-called antidote was the solving of this old case.

"The novelist Boccaccio wrote that plague victims had lunch with their friends," Ducky paused reflectively, "and dinner with their ancestors in paradise."

Gibbs clenched his fist; he felt it in his gut that DiNozzo had screwed himself with this one—he knew Tony's blood tests were going to come up positive, and he had the horrible sensation suddenly that he was going to have to tell Madeleine her Pony was dead.

Gibbs refused to stand by and let that happen. He stormed towards the storage in autopsy, hell-bent on getting suited up to standard so he could leave the damn lockdown area.

"We're coming up!"

* * *

><p>It was Ducky who called her in the middle of the day on Monday, and that worried Jenny, because naturally she'd assumed it would be Jethro checking in—and she'd actually expected him to check in more often considering his manic paranoia concerning Madeleine's safety.<p>

Jenny leaned against the wall across from her hotel door, her brows furrowed, listening to Ducky talk.

"Can you _repeat that_?" she demanded in disbelief.

Ducky complied, and she raised her eyes to the ceiling.

"He has the plague?" she asked, her voicing going up, strangled.

"No, no my dear!" Ducky soothed. "That's what I am telling you, he doesn't have the plague, he's perfectly clear!"

For a moment, Jenny was too relieved to listen to all of the details he was giving her about a biological threat and some insane woman who was using physical blackmail to get them to solve a rape case.

"Ducky," she interrupted. "Can I talk to Jethro?"

"Well, Jennifer, he's gotten rather rabid about this whole thing," Ducky said slowly. "I've managed to steal a moment to let you know what's going on. I felt it would be best and," he paused.

"And?" prompted Jenny aggressively.

"Anthony DiNozzo has contracted the plague," Ducky said grimly. "His prognosis is—unpleasant at best, and he is Madeleine's favorite person here, I believe."

Jenny swallowed, nodding her head.

"So this is a warning," she said softly. She sighed and lifted her hand, rubbing her forehead. Her meetings for the day were almost done; she had one more at three o'clock, and then she and Madeleine were going to do some light shopping on Rodeo Drive and have an early dinner.

Jenny planned on renting the movies she'd liked as a child and sharing them with Madeleine tonight in the hotel room for a quiet evening. She didn't at all like the idea of a conversation like _this_.

"It is," Ducky conceded. "I don't think Gibbs has the time currently to worry about it. The team is on a frighteningly tight schedule to find out who is responsible for this, but I really think it would be best if Madeleine was at least told Tony—Pony—has become very ill. Softening the blow, so to speak."

"Well, nothing is going to soften the blow if she loses someone she loves," Jenny said tartly. "I'm not so sure I want to ruin her trip."

Ducky was quiet.

"Are your motives well-intentioned, or selfish?" he asked wisely.

Jenny turned and pressed her fist into the wall, chewing the inside of her lip. She didn't want to upset Madeleine, but keeping her in the dark would only backfire if something horrible happened and this Anthony DiNozzo died. Jenny had lost her own father abruptly and violently, and though nothing would have eased the pain of his death, time to prepare might have soothed her injured heart.

It was selfishness that made her reluctant to tell Madeleine; she wanted this trip to be about her, and hers and Madeleine's relationship.

"I don't even know this man, Ducky," Jenny said quietly. "How am I supposed to talk to her about him?"

"Jennifer, you're an incredibly bright woman," Ducky said honestly. "I do not think you need my guidance when it comes to soothing your child."

She smiled slightly.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Duck," she returned softly, employing Jethro's nickname for the good doctor. She sighed heavily and closed her eyes. "I'll warn Madeleine as gently as possible," she said warily. "But Ducky," she went on, "if you think Jethro is going to let some virus take one of his own, you don't know him like I do."

* * *

><p>Gibbs had spent the past number of hours stumbling around in a damn Haz-Mat suit while he and McGee scrambled to use the information Abby had dredged up to put the pieces of this case together. DiNozzo had the virus—and the confirmation of that was grim and hollow; Gibbs had known it would be so, and yet had entertained that sliver of hope that he was just pessimistic.<p>

But now the clock was really on; DiNozzo was dying in isolation, Kate still hadn't checked back in, and Cassie Yates had been called in to give them something—anything—on this Sarah Lowell rape case she'd worked with Chris Pacci when she was a probie.

Gibbs liked Cassie Yates; she had been at FLET-C with Jenny and she was a capable, intelligent agent with a sharp wit and a very good shot. He felt better with her there, because she knew the original case, but until they had this bitch microbiologist in handcuffs and DiNozzo was safely plague-free, he wasn't going to relax.

The woman who had sent this had used lead infused lipstick to get the microbe past the mail's irradiation process; she was the mother of the young girl who had been allegedly raped by Naval Academy graduates four years ago. NCIS had cleared the cadets, but apparently Sarah Lowell's mother wasn't buying it—she smelled a cover-up, and she was making NCIS pay.

* * *

><p>In the dim, maddening blue lights, Tony DiNozzo stared at the absurdly named Dr. Brad Pitt.<p>

"Plague?" he asked skeptically, his brows rising into his hairline. He felt the ridiculous urge to burst out laughing and roll his eyes, but there was no joke in the doctor's eyes and somehow he knew this was the real deal. "Plague," he repeated again, almost in awe—and this time, he did laugh, however uncomfortable and surreal it was.

"Yeah, Tony—plague!" burst out Kate, storming across the room to him. "Only you would go off and get a disease from the Dark Ages!" she raged.

"I didn't put plague in the letter!"

"You opened it!"

"Yeah, so I opened it!" he yelled—was he never going to live that down? "What are you so upset about, it's not like you're the one—" he broke off, fear striking him heavily suddenly.

"Yeah, that's right, _Travolta_," she said scathingly, looking away, refusing to make eye contact—why wouldn't she look at him? "I'm infected, too," she snapped.

"Oh Kate. I'm sorry," he breathed softly, his voice gentle suddenly. He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry and knotted—now he was scared, and he couldn't hide it like he had when she'd asked him earlier if he was afraid.

"Yeah, well. You're gonna be sorrier," she railed.

"No," Tony said harshly. "Don't tell me Gibbs got it?" he asked, panic gripping him. "What about Maddie? I don't know anything about that mother of hers, someone's gotta take care of—"

"No, oh, no," Kate interrupted curtly. "Just us. But I am going to make your life hell!"

"How?" snorted Tony dejectedly. "You can't be worse than plague." He was given pause at the look on her face. "Okay, maybe you can. Maybe she can."

"I'm warning you DiNozzo," Kate growled.

"You know, I recall a couple of plague movies," DiNozzo drawled, joking weakly.

"I'm going to tell that hot nurse all of your dating tricks," she threatened.

"Kate," broke in the doctor sternly.

"I know," she said, giving the man an oddly pointed look. "You want to start my IV," she said, backing up towards her bed. She sneezed violently.

"If I catch your cold, I'm going to be very pissed," DiNozzo groused. He watched her walk away and turned to the doctors, a sort of hollow coldness slipping through his bones. He swallowed hard, still trying to process the information—plague. He had the damn _plague_.

"She'll be okay, right?" he asked the doctor.

The doctor just looked at him, and Nurse Emma turned away ominously.

* * *

><p>In the heart of Lowell Pharmaceuticals, Gibbs found himself standing with one gun pointed at a glass lab wall, towards the heart of a scientific researcher, and the other shoved into the chest of the security guard who had tried to stop him. Hannah Lowell, the mastermind bitch behind the bio attack, was on her way to booking with Cassie Yates while Gibbs used intimidation to get the antidote they so desperately needed.<p>

"There is no antidote!" the researcher yelled, trying to remain calm. "I developed a vaccine, not an antidote! Hannah misunderstood!"

"She understood," Gibbs said dangerously.

"No! That's not how it—"

"If you don't save my agent—" Gibbs began, shouting.

The man interrupted.

"It isn't that simple!" he took a deep breath. "The virus has a suicide chain that stops it from replicating after thirty two hours, as a security precaution," he revealed shakily.

"It dies?" Gibbs asked, his gun steady.

"Yes!"

"It's dead now?" he clarified gruffly.

"If it's over thirty-two hours since the specimen has been infected, all the is dead. However…the damage will have been done."

"The specimen is going to die?" Gibbs demanded threateningly.

"No, not necessarily!" the researcher shook his hands. "He has the same chance of survival as those infected in plagues of the past. Probably better, since he would be healthy and young!"

Gibbs tensed, gripping his gun even tighter.

"What was the survival rate of the past?" he asked harshly.

"People were weakened by depleted crops, bad nutrition—"

"DAMMIT," Gibbs shouted, interrupting the history lesson. "_What was the survival rate_?"

The researcher's face paled.

"Fifteen perfect," he said quietly.

Gibbs lowered his gun slightly; his eyes narrowed on the other man's. Fifteen percent—and DiNozzo was riddled with the stuff, according to doctors; it was crawling in him, eating him from the inside out. Gibbs couldn't think straight for a moment, when he was faced with the possibility of losing an agent like this, not in a hail of bullets but to an invisible foe because of some stupid puckered lips—and then, still lingering, there was the idea that Madeleine would have to lose another person she loved, really loved, even if Gibbs didn't like to admit she loved DiNozzo.

He holstered his gun and turned on his heal, damn near running out of the building.

There was no way he was letting DiNozzo kick the bucket this easily.

* * *

><p>Two hours after dinner and thirty minutes after a bath, Jenny was still amazed at the grace with which Madeleine had handled the news about DiNozzo's illness. There was the possibility that the severity of the situation went over her head, though Jenny had done her best to convey it, but Madeleine's response was still baffling.<p>

She had blinked at Jenny, asked one question about how sick Tony was, and then said matter-of-factly that she was going to pray for Pony and make it okay. Jenny had then watched as the daughter of an atheist and a man whose faith was lackluster at best knelt by the bed, touched her Star of David necklace, and closed her eyes quietly.

That had been the end of it—they had done their shopping, they had rented several movies, and now they were snuggled up on the bed, Madeleine wrapped in cozy pajamas while Jenny painted her toenails, and Jenny busy balancing a bowl of popcorn and a bottle of bright green nail polish.

Noemi reclined on the other bed, a Spanish romance novel propped up on her knees.

"This was your favorite movie, Mommy?" Madeleine asked, wriggling her toe inadvertently as she tried to snuggle closer.

Jenny deftly avoided painting Madeleine's entire pinky toe and allowed her to shift. She nodded, her tongue in her cheek while she concentrated. When she was done, she looked up and gestured to the screen.

"Willy Wonka was my favorite character," she said, gesturing to the timeless character on the screen.

Madeleine giggled.

"He's funny lookin'," she remarked.

"Yes, but so is your father," Jenny retorted wryly, smirking.

Madeleine laughed again, looking down at her toes. She was enjoying the cheesy music in the movie and, to Jenny's relief, having appropriate reactions to the horrid behavior of some of the spoiled rotten little children.

"We have to watch _The Wizard of Oz_ tomorrow, 'cause I miss Oz," Madeleine said. She held up her fingers. "And you are going to do my fingernails tomorrow, yes, Ima?"

"Yes," Jenny agreed. "Green to match your toes?" she asked, holding up the bottle. "Or a different colour."

"_Yellow_," hissed Madeleine gleefully.

"You'll have so many bright colours, they'll see you from space," Jenny said solemnly.

"Who will see me?" Madeleine demanded.

"Why, the Wookiees of course," Jenny answered matter-of-factly. "And the, uh, Yodas and the Darth Vaders, and, uh," Jenny faltered, smirking. She shrugged her shoulders, and Madeleine gave her a sassy look.

"Yoda is a person, he's not an animal," she said. "You mean Jedis and bad Jedis," she corrected.

"Silly Mommy," Jenny said, sighing.

Madeleine wriggled her toes.

"I have Yoda-coloured toes," she said smugly.

"You're about as big as Yoda," Jenny told her, arching a brow.

Madeleine laughed and reached for some popcorn, munching on it. She squealed and pointed at the screen.

"Mommy _look_, he's trapped in the television!" she cried.

"That Mike TeeVee should have been careful what he wished for, huh?" Jenny asked smoothly.

Madeleine nodded rapidly, and then she tilted her head up.

"Mommy," she said, pointing sternly at Jenny. "You must remind me to pray for Pony again before bed."

Jenny looked at her softly, reaching out with her free hand to stroke her hair back.

"I will," she promised. She bit her lip and hesitated. "Honey, you need to understand that it might not work like that," she said tentatively.

She didn't want to dash Madeleine's hopes like that, but Jenny just wasn't religious, and she took issue with the idea of her daughter's heart being crushed if something happened to DiNozzo. She didn't really _like_ the idea of Madeleine putting her faith in invisible deities.

Madeleine looked at her for a moment and tilted her head.

"It would work like that more if more people didn't say it was not working," she said.

Jenny stroked her hair again slowly, startled by the comment. It was a bit jumped and confusing, but what it boiled down to was wise beyond Madeleine's five years—the Kindergartener had grasped something Jenny had always struggled with: faith was about belief and acceptance in the face of total uncertainty.

Jenny swallowed and turned to look at Noemi, who smiled serenely, her crucifix glinting at her neck. The redhead looked at the clock on the bedside table—it was after nine o'clock, and she still had no word on the result of the bio attack in D.C.

* * *

><p>Gibbs burst into the isolation rooms at Bethesda Naval Hospital after having basically shot his way through security and a whole mass of people who tried to stop him. He got there in time to see Kate rush out of the room and hug tight to Ducky, and as much as it bothered him to see her crying so hard over DiNozzo, he ignored it and brushed past.<p>

"He's dying, Ducky," Kate whimpered.

"Ah, the hell he is," growled Gibbs abrasively, marching right up to the decontamination treatment room and barging in without a mask or suit to speak of.

"Whoa! Whoa, who," the doctor pushed him back. "Who the hell are you?"

"His boss," Gibbs retorted, as if announcing himself King of England. "The bug had a suicide chain," he said. "It's dead. Been dead for over an hour. He's no longer infectious."

With that said, Gibbs maneuvered around all of them and stormed up to DiNozzo's bedside, looking down at him heavily. The senior agent didn't look good—he was pale, his face sunken, and his lips parched, chapped, cracked and bleeding. Gibbs had never seen Tony look so sick or so frail and it got to him more than he'd thought it would. He leaned down closer, glaring until Tony struggled to open his eyes and look back, his lashes flinching at Gibbs' proximity.

"Tony," Gibbs said hoarsely, lowering his voice significantly. "Listen to me." He took note of Tony's labored breathing for a moment. "You listenin'?"

"I," Tony rasped, nodding his head. "I'm listening. Boss."

He didn't even sound like DiNozzo, with that hacking, dry voice.

"You will not die. You got that?" Gibbs asked, his eyes sharp on DiNozzo's. He watched the agent struggle with his breathing, his eyes closed again—almost as if he hadn't heard, or was ignoring Gibbs.

Gibbs reached out and slapped him on the head as if it were nothing, a normal day, a routine head slap.

DiNozzo's eyes popped wide open, and he shivered.

"You won't make me tell my little girl she'll never see you again," he went on curtly. "_You will not die._"

DiNozzo blinked a few times, his hands twitching. He still made that noise in his throat, almost like a death rattle, a labored, uncomfortable shallow breathing sound. He nodded his head with effort.

"I—I gotcha, Boss," he managed painfully.

"Good," Gibbs said quietly. He placed his hand on DiNozzo's head for a moment, feeling the fever, and then he straightened and turned gruffly on his heel, stopping only to pull DiNozzo's new cell phone out of his pocket. "Your new phone," he said roughly, pressing it into Tony's hand and squeezing his palm shut. "The first thing you do when you're better? You call my daughter," he ordered. "_Pony_."

DiNozzo held the phone to his chest, his eyes closing again; he nodded.

Gibbs stood back, staring hard for a moment.

It may have been arrogance that led him to believe that he could simply order a man not to die, but it was that, and perhaps the prayers of a sweet five-year-old hundreds of miles away, that enabled Tony to beat the pneumonic plague.

* * *

><p>It was late in the evening when Jethro called her, and Jenny was grateful the cell phone was on silent. Noemi and Madeleine were both asleep, lulled by the long old movie Madeleine had insisted on watching.<p>

"Hey," Jenny answered quietly, leaning back against the headboard with the phone pressed to her ear.

Madeleine slept curled beside her, her mouth open slightly, and her head in Jenny's lap. Jenny smiled at her and tilted her head up.

"What's the verdict?" Jenny asked.

"DiNozzo's fine," Gibbs answered gruffly, and she closed her eyes in silent relief. "Ducky told me he called you. Was Emmy upset?"

Jenny moved her head a little, pursing her lips.

"No," she said honestly. "Not really. I'm not sure she fully understood…she just prayed for him and moved on with her day."

Gibbs grunted approvingly.

"Did you get an antidote?" Jenny inquired.

"Nah, told 'im he wasn't allowed to die."

She rolled her eyes heavenward and laughed under her breath.

"Of course you did," she muttered.

"Speak up, Jen."

"Madeleine's asleep," she answered in the same muted tone. "She nodded off right after the Yellow Brick Road got Dorothy to the Emerald City."

"Ah, she'll miss the Horse of a Different Colour," Gibbs lamented. "Her favorite part."

"She's seen it a thousand times," Jenny retorted. "I'm supposed to ask how Oz is. So, how is Oz?" she checked obediently.

"He's a pain in the ass," Gibbs answered, though Jenny knew he liked the dog as much as Madeleine did. "He's moping 'cause he misses her," he added.

"Aww," Jenny cooed. "What a sweet little thing."

"Yeah, you think he's sweet when he's not around you," Gibbs retorted gruffly. "He'll be over it soon enough, when he gets a load of what's comin'," Gibbs added in a grumble.

"Oh? What's that supposed to mean?" Jenny asked, stroking Madeleine's hair gently as the child slept. She shifted in her sleep, her mouth falling open even further, and she snored quietly. Jenny giggled to herself.

Gibbs, after grumbling to himself angrily for a moment, reluctantly answered.

"I volunteered to let DiNozzo stay here while he recovers," he growled. "After his twenty-four hours in the hospital."

Jenny cupped her hand over her mouth to prevent a burst of laugher, abruptly drawing her hands off Madeleine. Madeleine frowned and rolled off Jenny's lap, sprawling on her back on the pillows.

"What?" Jenny hissed, her brows going up gleefully. "You volunteered to babysit a grown—why, Jethro?" she asked, exasperation and amusement flooding her voice.

He seemed to be struggling with the answer himself for a moment.

"Emmy's gone," he said slowly. "It's weird not havin' someone to watch."

Jenny resisted the urge to let out a shriek of glee and jump on the bed. It was such a completely absurd thing for Gibbs to say—he had essentially just admitted that he was filling a void with his _senior agent_.

"Jethro," Jenny said solemnly. "That's without a doubt the cutest thing you've ever said to me."

He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'kiss my ass' and Jenny curled up against her headboard again, slouching down so she could snuggle closer to Madeleine. She reached over and started combing her fingers every so lightly through her daughter's hair again, a smile permanently etched on her face.

"I bought Madeleine a Halloween costume," Jenny said mildly, breaking the comfortable silence. "She told me what she wanted to be and said she hadn't told you yet. And I'll take any chance to buy shoes, especially adorable little girl shoes..." she trailed off wryly.

"What's she going to be?" Gibbs asked.

"You'll see," Jenny said primly. "She'll want to show you immediately when she gets back. She's having fun with me but I think she misses D.C…she talks nonstop about you and the team and school," Jenny paused. "No place like home, I guess."

"Dorothy," Gibbs said triumphantly. "I knew she was gonna be Dorothy," he muttered smugly, and then addressed Jenny's other comments: "Yeah, she's thrivin' here, Jen. She'd be at one-hundred percent if you were with us all the time."

"I know," Jenny said earnestly. There was no solemnity or dejection in her voice. "I am working on that," she reminded him. "Really working on it, Jethro."

He grunted amiably, and she could almost see him shrugging with a calm look on his face. She smiled to herself and admired her sleeping daughter for a moment, sighing.

"She still looks just like you when she sleeps," she said quietly, remembering how much Madeleine used to look like Jethro when she slept as a baby.

"Ha," Gibbs snorted. "She looks like you when she's pissed."

"Good," Jenny said quietly, smiling like a Cheshire cat and arching over Madeleine to press a kiss to her forehead.

Madeleine murmured in her sleep and opened her eyes for a moment, half-awake.

"Daddy," she said distinctly, before dropping her eyes closed heavily and falling right back to sleep.

Jenny kissed her again and rested her cheek on Madeleine's head lightly.

"Jen," he said mildly, catching her attention.

"Hmm?" she murmured.

"Positano," Gibbs said gruffly. "You said Positano."

Jenny's brow furrowed.

"What?" she muttered to herself. "What about Positano? Is your knee hurting?" she asked, concern lacing her voice. That gunshot to the back of the knee was something he was just never going to completely get over, and she knew sometimes it just hurt like hell.

"No," he growled, sounding annoyed. "You told Emmy Positano," he said.

"Oh!" she remembered suddenly the day Madeleine had pestered her endlessly with questions about when she'd fallen in love with Jethro in Paris, and he was right—she'd said Positano. Well, she'd said Italy, because it was easier for Madeleine, but they both knew she mean _Positano._ "Yes," she said cautiously. "I did."

"Why'd you tell 'er that?" he asked skeptically.

Jenny moved her mouth soundlessly for a moment. She licked her lips. For a moment she thought to reprimand him for asking her such a personal question, but then that seemed ridiculous. They had a child together—what was too personal these days?

"It wasn't a _lie_, Jethro," she said simply, shrugging her shoulders. She was a little put off by his skeptical tone. "The answer _was_ Positano."

"Positano was after Marseille," he pointed out.

Jenny laughed softly.

"You smug bastard, I didn't fall in love with you the first time I slept with you," she retorted, snickering quietly.

He ignored her.

"We were in Paris longest," he insisted. "Positano was later, you—Jen, you hated Positano," he reminded her gruffly. "You never shut up about what a bastard I was that entire week. You _still_ give me a hard time about it."

Jenny sighed heavily, sitting up a little. She pulled away from Madeleine and glanced over at Noemi, checking to make sure the housekeeper was still asleep.

"Jethro," she murmured, reaching up to rub her forehead. She pushed her hair back, tangling her fingers in it. "Don't you understand?" she asked, almost to herself.

He didn't answer; he just waited for her to elaborate. She swallowed and tilted her head back, looking up at the ceiling.

"You _were_ a bastard in Positano," she said calmly. "You were impossible and mean and stubborn and difficult; you were an _asshole_ and you were aggressive and you wouldn't listen—"

"Yeah, I get it, Jen," he interrupted sheepishly.

"No," she said, "you don't, do you? Or you wouldn't be asking me to explain," she answered quietly. "After all that, after how poorly you treated me while I was just trying to make sure you recovered, while I took care of you and you lashed out at me and pushed me away—I _still wanted to take care of you_," she paused. "You weren't nice to me and you didn't want me to nurse you because you were wounded and you're too proud, but I knew you were treating me that way because you were hurt. You bit at me like an injured dog bites. And _I didn't care_ because I _wanted_ to be there," she lowered her hand to her lap and shrugged to herself. "That's when I knew I loved you, Jethro," she said honestly. "It was a bad time, and I _didn't_ want to throw the towel in. I wanted to _be_ there."

He was silent for a long time. She wondered if he was stopping himself from asking why, then, she'd run from him when their assignment was over—and maybe she was about to find out if they were really past that. If they had really put that _stupid_ goddamn Dear John letter behind them.

He was really thinking that he hadn't given her enough in Paris; that he should have been more receptive to her and he should have tried harder to make her at least understand that he cared, but he couldn't really get there yet. He should have given her more credit. He was thinking—he'd spent a lot of time blaming her for leaving, when he should have been regretting his failure to give her a reason to stay.

But she didn't know that, and he couldn't put all that into words. She opened her mouth to break the silence, but he cleared his throat gruffly—and managed to beat her to it.

"Positano," he mused gruffly. "But you won't marry me?" he drawled wryly, and she could practically hear him arrogantly cocking that silver eyebrow.

She laughed, and he was startled to hear a catch in voice when she spoke.

"Ah," she said hoarsely, biting her lower lip. "I already said no," she said weakly, pressing her lips together again. "Oh, _honey_," she drawled playfully. "Now it's just a matter of my pride."

* * *

><p>Jenny wrinkled her nose and pushed her sunglasses up on her head as she re-applied sunscreen to the bridge of Madeleine's nose. She didn't want to send her back to Jethro sunburned, so she was being a little overzealous with the stuff. Three coats probably weren't necessary, considering she'd also bought Madeleine an adorable floppy sunhat, but there was no reason to take chances.<p>

"You're good," Jenny said, tapping her daughter's nose lightly and indicating she was free to dart back to the water's edge where she was looking for seashells.

Jenny leaned back on her arms and stretched her legs out, digging her toes into the sand. She hadn't brought a bathing suit with her, so she was making due with gym shorts and a t-shirt while Madeleine pranced around in a simple sundress and bare feet.

Sitting next to her in a ball cap and one of his goofy Hawaiian shirts, Special Agent William Decker grinned.

"So weird," he said smugly, repeating something he said earlier.

Jenny sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes.

"You really think it's that weird that I had a baby?" she asked, arching her brow at him. She looked over and squinted in the sun, reaching up with one hand to flick the brim of her hat back a little.

He laughed loudly.

"Yeah, I do," he retorted matter-of-factly. "C'mon, Shepard, I saw you smile at a kid once in Paris, and that was after his mother yelled at him for running into you."

Jenny shook her head, shrugging her shoulders simply.

"Things change."

"If the right man comes along, I guess," Decker drawled. "Though I really did think you'd sooner jump out a window than go back to Gibbs," he remarked.

He recalled a very distinct, difficult conversation they had right before she took the transfer to Israel—without telling Gibbs about it. Jenny didn't answer him, though, and he didn't push. They had remained good friends since her training days, and he was thrilled she'd wanted him to meet her daughter.

"It wasn't a matter of crawling back to him," Jenny mused, tilting her head a little. Madeleine came darting back towards her and she sat forward, holding out her hands for Madeleine to grab. "It's just what happened," she murmured.

Madeleine put her fists into Jenny's hands, and Jenny held her tightly, waiting for the Kindergartener to open her hands and reveal her treasure.

"Look, I found one that isn't chipped!" Madeleine said, revealing three lovely white shells.

"Beautiful," Jenny complimented.

"Hold them," Madeleine said excitedly. She dumped them into Jenny's hands. "I'm gonna keep 'em and Daddy can make holes in them with his tools and I can put a string through them for a necklace so I remember this trip to see you," she informed her mother, beaming.

The little girl looked over at Decker, reaching up to adjust her hat.

"Ima says you know my daddy."

"Yeah," Decker said warmly. "I worked with your mom and dad in Europe."

Madeleine grinned at him. She crouched by Jenny's feet and picked up a shell she'd dropped earlier, a brown and chipped one.

"Here," she said, and turned and ran back to the water's edge. Decker grinned and held up the shell, examining it.

"She's great, Shepard," he said sincerely. "Real pretty kid. Real sweet, even if Gibbs is raising her," he joked.

Jenny hesitated, unsure if she should correct him—after all, it wasn't just Gibbs raising her, they did their best to do it together. And Jenny had done it alone for three years first. That all seemed so long ago, though.

"She's bilingual," Jenny bragged, taking a rare moment to shine a light on her daughter. "Hebrew and English. Sign language too, come to think of it," she added. "Jethro says she can read better than her classmates but," Jenny laughed. "She has my math skills."

"Ah, so she's got _no_ math skills."

Jenny whacked Decker in the stomach with her hand. She shook her head and leaned over, holding the shells Madeleine had given her in her hand lightly, letting them click against each other as she moved her fingers.

"I can't believe you're retiring," she said, squinting at him in the sun.

Decker shrugged. He looked out at Madeleine.

"Eh, well," he sighed. "You know, Gibbs was on to somethin' when he scoffed about Hollywood agents. All the sun and surf 'round here, it gets to a man. Makes sittin' on a beach look a hell of a lot more fun than getting shot at," he remarked.

Jenny followed his gaze to Madeleine.

"I know what you mean," she said quietly, watching Madeleine search diligently for more perfect shells.

"I hear you're up for Vance's position," Decker said bluntly.

Jenny whirled on him in surprise.

"_How_-?"

"McAlister told me," Decker said, with a blank shrug. "He heard it from Vance. He's retirin' too, you know."

"I heard," Jenny sighed.

Decker was leaving, McAlister was leaving—and McAlister had assigned her to Jethro in Paris. It was odd to her that the people who had welcomed her to this agency were leaving.

"You think Gibbs is next?" Decker asked teasingly.

"Ha," she laughed. "Gibbs will retire when wild horses drag him to the grave," she joked. Madeleine ran back to her again, this time with a handful of four shells. She burst into a jumble of Hebrew and Jenny, taken aback, took a moment to utilize her rusty skills and sort out what she'd said.

"No," she said finally, shaking her head. "No," she repeated, pointing to Decker. "He's not Mommy's boyfriend."

Madeleine peered at Decker.

"Okay," she said slowly.

Decker grinned at her amiably.

"I'm your mom's best friend," he corrected.

"My best friend's name is Delia," Madeleine said. "Well, unless you count Emily Fornell, but she's mean sometimes. Or Big Maddie," Madeleine went on. She beamed. "My boyfriend is named Pony," she revealed.

"Whoa, knockin' 'em dead already, are you?" Decker asked, humoring her beautifully.

Madeleine put a hand on her hip and winked at him. Jenny giggled, her brows going up.

"Sweetheart, has Daddy ever heard you say DiNozzo is your boyfriend?"

"No," Madeleine retorted. "But I told Abby and Abby said if I told Daddy, Daddy would have a brain seizure."

Jenny leaned forward and kissed Madeleine's forehead.

"Better listen to Abby, ahuva," she advised, laughing again.

Madeleine crinkled her nose and sat down in front of her mother and Decker, cocking her head.

"I got salty water in my mouth," she said, sticking out her tongue. "It's gross."

Decker made a face.

"At least it's not sand," he said, making motions with his teeth. "You get that stuff between your teeth for days."

Madeleine held up her foot.

"I got sand in my toes!" she said.

Decker held up his foot and pressed it playfully against hers. She laughed and flopped backwards, making as sort of sand-angel with her tiny foot pressed against Decker's large one. Jenny beamed; pleased her closest friend was getting on so well with her daughter.

Decker tilted his head and watched her looking at Madeleine.

"She has to go home tomorrow?" he asked.

Jenny bit her lip and nodded. Decker hesitated and then shrugged.

"Maybe you should retire, Jenny," he said mildly.

"Me? I'm too young," she said. Decker shrugged again, reminding her silently that he wasn't of age to retire with benefits, either—he was just leaving NCIS before it killed him.

"I think you're tired of being away from her," Decker pointed out wisely.

Jenny sat forward even more, reaching out and grasping Madeleine's hand in hers. Madeleine giggled loudly and squeezed back, reaching up with her free hand to grab her hat and keep it from rolling off.

She couldn't think of anything to say. Madeleine sat up abruptly and cocked an eyebrow, looking at the adults with a smirk.

Decker whistled, his own brows going up.

"Jesus, Shepard, she looks just like Gibbs."

* * *

><p>DiNozzo sneezed for the hundredth time since entering Gibbs' house, except this time he sneezed dangerously close to Gibbs' face, and Gibbs turned and fixed a glare on him.<p>

"Sorry, Boss," DiNozzo said sheepishly, inching away from the grim look and plastering himself to the doorway of Madeleine's room. "Uh, where is she again?" he asked.

"California," grunted Gibbs, offering no other information whatsoever—to Tony's ultimate frustration.

So Tony just nodded and peered into the Kindergartener's surprisingly neat room. He cleared his throat, covering is mouth to cough painfully for a moment. Gibbs glared around the room and then turned and glared at DiNozzo again.

"She says you have to sleep in here," Gibbs growled, as if Madeleine's insistence was entirely his fault.

DiNozzo winced.

"Uh, it's okay, Boss," he tried sheepishly. "I don't—we don't have to tell her. I'll sleep on the couch, uh—"

"No," snapped Gibbs. "The couch is where the dog sleeps now," he pointed out. "The dog hates you."

DiNozzo swallowed. The only other option, really, would be Gibbs' bedroom, and DiNozzo highly doubted—

"She wants you to sleep in here," Gibbs repeated, still obviously grudging Tony his existence.

"Is that inappropriate or something?" DiNozzo asked uncertainly.

Gibbs slapped him in the back of the head.

"Hey!" squawked DiNozzo. "_Plague_ victim!" he said, outraged.

"It isn't inappropriate if she's not sleepin' there," growled Gibbs, annoyed. He grabbed DiNozzo's duffle bag and threw it into the room, storming in and making sure all of the toys were picked up—Polly Pocket dolls were a bitch to step on if you happened to miss one of them right underfoot. Satisfied that the room was in good condition, he pointed to the bed. "Get," he ordered.

"Y'know, I feel fine now, Boss," DiNozzo whined half-heartedly. "Just some of this respiratory stuff is still bugging me. I can sit in the living room."

"The dog's in the living room," Gibbs retorted. "Oz hates you."

"Will you stop reminding me?" groused DiNozzo, trudging over to Madeleine's bed and looking down at it anxiously. "I never did anything to that mutt, I don't know why he's such a jerk."

"He's not a _mutt_," growled Gibbs pointedly.

DiNozzo turned and glared at him.

"I can sit in the basement," he pleaded.

"Sawdust," grunted Gibbs, shooting him down. He pointed at the bed again. "_Get_."

Grumbling, DiNozzo threw himself down on the little bed and scrunched his knees up, lying down as best as he good in the small twin sized sleeper. He adjusted his head on the pillows and raised his eyebrows.

"You're seriously gonna make me go to sleep?" he scoffed.

"Need you back on your game," Gibbs said roughly.

"You think I can just sleep plague away? Doc wants me out of work for a week!"

"You get two days," Gibbs retorted.

"C'mon, Boss, there's not even a TV in here!" whined Tony.

Gibbs glared at him and then turned on his heel. He went into the living room and grabbed the laptop and a handful of Madeleine's DVDs. He marched both back into the kid's room and put them on the bed without a word, ignoring the grin that started across DiNozzo's face as he sat forward.

Gibbs stormed back out and towards the kitchen, where he filled up one of Madeleine's cup with the frilly straws with water and snatched the bottle of antibiotics DiNozzo was supposed to keep up with off the table. He went back to Tony, dumped the correct dosage into the agent's hands, and then shoved the child's cup into his palm.

"Drink," he ordered.

Tony tipped back the pills and picked up the cup obediently, sipping through the straw. He looked up at Gibbs warily, feeling totally ridiculous squished in a five-year-old's bed while his tougher-than-nails boss forced him to drink water and take his medicine.

"Uh," DiNozzo began, talking around the straw. "When's Maddie coming back?"

Gibbs just narrowed his eyes and glared.

Madeleine would be back tomorrow morning at eight a.m., and regardless of how Gibbs felt about DiNozzo bumming around his house, she was going to be thrilled about the situation.

* * *

><p>In a quiet, secluded corner off to the left of the security checkpoints, Jenny knelt down to Madeleine's level and put her arms around her, touching their foreheads together gently. She glanced at the time on a wall clock behind them and smiled sadly.<p>

"I will miss you so much," she said quietly.

"I'll miss you, too!" Madeleine whispered back sweetly, her eyes crinkling. She squirmed a little, and tapped her shoes together—they were red and sparkly, a cheap, glittering replica of Dorothy's ruby slippers, and Madeleine had pleaded that she be allowed to wear them. 'To no place like home, Mommy!' she'd laughed. Jenny had conceded because she didn't have the energy to deny Madeleine this morning.

She was sending her back with her auburn hair a little kissed by the sun, her nails and toenails painted, and at least four new outfits crammed into Noemi's bag—plus the Halloween costume. It didn't seem like enough, and it had been over too quickly, but Jenny was just grateful she had been able to pull this off.

Somehow, it seemed even harder to say goodbye this time, because her future was so uncertain right now—she might get a transfer to Los Angeles, or she might be told to remain indefinitely overseas, whether it was Cairo or a post that had just opened in Rota, Spain. If her orders were the former, she could hardly think how much easier that would be—if they were the latter, she was scared of the decision she'd have to make, because she understood now that if they told her to stay overseas, she'd tell them she was finished at NCIS.

Decker was right; he always was about her. She was tired of being away from Madeleine; it was exhausting to see her growing up without really _seeing_ it.

Jenny leaned forward and kissed Madeleine's cheek.

"I love you," she said, and kissed the other cheek. "I love you," she murmured again, in Hebrew this time. She smiled and touched her nose to Madeleine's. "Be good, Madeleine," she bit her lip, and then smiled, pressing another kiss to Madeleine's cheek. "That one's for Daddy," she said. "You tell him I love him, okay? And you remember to take care of him for me."

"Okay," Madeleine whispered, winking. She let Jenny hold her, and when Jenny finally hugged her close and straightened up, Madeleine stepped away from her mother and slipped her hand into Noemi's.

Jenny transferred Madeleine's carryon backpack to Noemi and smiled bravely.

"You were so good to do this for us, Noemi," she said sincerely, stepping closer to give her former nanny a light hug and a warm peck on the cheek. "Make sure she gets back safe," she said quietly. "Have a good flight."

"Si, Senora, I will," Noemi said, nudging Madeleine a little as they started to walk.

Jenny folded her arms across herself and turned to watch, her eyes narrow and stern. She put a hard look on her face so she wouldn't cry in the airport. Right as they disappeared around the corner, Madeleine peeked back and blew a kiss—and Jenny managed to mime catching it, to Madeleine's delight.

Noemi and Madeleine disappeared into the security check line, and Jenny turned her back, taking the long walk out of LAX. She stepped into the sun and glanced at her watch—she had a final meeting with the director and the SecNav in two hours, and then, almost immediately after, a flight back to Cairo—the last place, she realized, she wanted to be right now.

* * *

><p>It was hot in the Los Angeles office's main conference room; the air conditioning around here was sketchy at best, and it was on the fritz today. Jenny fanned herself quietly with a folded up document. The group, consisting of the Secretary of the Navy Phillip Davenport, Assistant Director Leon Vance, McAlister, L.A. Agent in Charge Lara Macy, Henrietta Lange, and herself, had fallen into silence after the last big discussion, and most of them were seeing to their personal notes currently.<p>

Hetty got up to fix herself a new cup of coffee, and McAlister leaned backward, turning his head back and forth, rubbing his neck.

"I'm putting Agent Barrett in my place in San Diego," he said in his gruff, matter-of-fact way. "She's a bit of a hotshot itchin' to prove herself, but she'll do fine." McAlister gestured at Shepard, "and this one had the same attitude out of FLET-C, and she's done spectacular," he complimented gruffly.

"Even in the face of little roadblocks," Vance remarked a bit tensely.

Jenny ignored his jibe, which she knew to be about Madeleine, and leaned forward, her eyes on Morrow.

"When are all of these regime changes taking place?" she asked tightly.

"Sooner than intended."

The SecNav was the one who answered, and there were stress lines etched heavily on his face. He gestured at Morrow, clenching a fist a little, and crunched a peppermint between his teeth, sitting up a bit straighter.

"Homeland Security has moved up the date they want Tom to start," he said gruffly. "We're going to have to shift everything forward."

"How much?" Vance asked.

"This stuff needs to take place in the next two weeks," Morrow said grimly.

Murmurs went up around the table, and Lara Macy reached up and rubbed her forehead.

"You want me to take on five new trainees for OSP at the same time, then?" she asked.

SecNav nodded curtly, and McAlister whistled.

"Damn, Tom, you've really screwed us," he growled at Morrow.

Morrow looked tense but shrugged.

"I have faith in this agency. We're capable," he said diplomatically. He lifted his hand and rubbed his chin, leaning forward. His eyes met Vance's and he cleared his throat. "Are you ready to take over in D.C.?" he asked.

Vance had a tight, sour look on his face.

"Morrow, we talked—"

"Yeah," Morrow interrupted uncomfortably.

"What's the problem?" Secretary Davenport asked, realizing there was an issue.

Morrow and Vance shared another look, and they were quiet for a moment.

"Sir," began Morrow, but Vance cut him off.

"My youngest kid is being treated for a medical condition here in Los Angeles," he said. "It's been an abrupt situation, but the bottom line is, my wife and I have been advised to keep him here until he's well," Vance revealed tensely. "I need to stay here for the time being."

Davenport leaned back, frowning.

"How long?"

Vance lifted his shoulders.

"A year, at the least," he said grimly. "I won't take the job and be away from my family right now," he added simply. He shrugged and leaned back.

"Goddamnit," swore Davenport. "So we've got Morrow leaving in a couple weeks, and no new director to send to D.C. What the hell are we gonna do?" he demanded, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting up.

Jenny leaned back in her chair, frowning. She heard a small clearing of the throat and looked around. Hetty arched a prim eyebrow at her and sipped her coffee quietly. Jenny grinned, thinking her colleague was simply being friendly, but Hetty jerked her head imperceptibly at Vance, and then at the SecNav. Jenny furrowed her brow, and Hetty stepped closer.

"I believe you have a child in D.C.," the woman remarked casually.

Jenny nodded slowly.

"Performing as a Director in D.C. is not quite so different from performing as an Assistant Director in Cairo," she murmured coolly. "Particularly for a political mind such as yourself."

"Hetty, you got an idea?" McAlister barked, brusque as usual. "Speak up, my lady," he teased wryly.

Hetty lifted her shoulders daintily, arching a brow directly at Director Morrow.

"I simply casually wondered aloud why Leon's opportunity isn't offered in turn to A.D. Shepard," she remarked smoothly.

There was silence for a moment, and then to Jenny's complete shock, Davenport _laughed_ shortly. He _laughed_. Taken aback by the rudeness of his laughing at the suggestion of her in such a position of authority, Jenny lifted her chin slightly and arched her brow, meeting his eyes harshly.

"You object to the idea of a female director?" she asked mildly, a threat simmering under the surface of her tone. She knew this was her boss's boss, but for the moment, she didn't care—laughing at her? It was unprofessional—and unfounded.

Davenport shook his head, sobering. Morrow looked between them mildly, a thoughtful look crossing his face. Vance lifted his hand and pointed vaguely in Jenny's direction.

"It's a damn good suggestion," he said frankly, surprising Jenny. She hadn't ever thought Leon Vance liked her very much. He shrugged, ignoring the expression on her face. "You install her as interim Director while I sort out my son, and re-adjust when I come in," he said, and then held his hand out. "If it turns out she runs the place well, then it's my tough luck for missing out."

Jenny rubbed her jaw narrowly, staring at him uncertainly. Vance, who had been eager as hell to take the Director's chair in D.C., had suddenly and easily reversed his decision in order to stay with his family in Los Angeles. It was admirable, and it was something Jenny had obviously never done.

"Shepard has a family in D.C.," Lara Macy remarked pointedly. "It's convenient in several respects."

"We aren't going to make anymore assignments based on Shepard's romantic slip-ups," remarked Davenport sharply.

Hetty drew in her breath sharply, and Jenny leaned forward, unable to hold back the biting anger this time. She slammed her palm on the table loudly.

"I don't believe my romantic slip-ups affected my ability to bring down three terrorist cells and half of Al-Qaeda's Eastern European arms supply ring, _sir_," she growled firmly.

Hetty smirked; Lara Macy snorted into her palm, and Morrow gave a slow, placating smile. Jenny turned her eyes on Morrow, a fierce line settling over her mouth.

"I am capable," she said aggressively. "You know I'd do you proud in that office, Tom."

"I know," he agreed immediately, lifting his shoulders. "Ultimately, it's up to you, Mr. Secretary. But if we were to instate Shepard as interim NCIS Director for an unspecified amount of time—until we see fit to re-evaluate or Vance is ready to take the reigns, I would support that decision."

Jenny's heart very nearly leapt into her throat. She could feel the Secretary's eyes burning into her skull, but she was looking at Morrow, slightly shell-shocked suddenly. She had—spoken up in favor of herself as the new Director of NCIS. She had essentially fought for the position, and she hadn't even thought about what it would mean—a move back to D.C., a position that put her in charge of Jethro.

She swallowed hard, and Secretary Davenport lifted his chin at her sternly.

"You want the Director's chair, Shepard?" he asked.

She had just sent Madeleine back to Jethro this morning, and that long, painful goodbye in the airport was still fresh in her memory. She knew this was the only way she was going to land herself back in D.C., and in any situation this was the opportunity of a lifetime—she had been at NCIS for seven years, and they were going to put her on top.

There wasn't any time to discuss this with Jethro—and a guilty voice in the back of her mind reminded her she had never discussed her career choices adequately with Jethro, any way.

She nodded her head curtly.

"_Yes_. I want the chair."

* * *

><p>Oz was making a horrible, wailing racket when Gibbs got home with Madeleine, and he had to shout to be heard over him. He couldn't see the dog anywhere, and it wasn't until Madeleine wrenched open the basement door and Oz came barreling out that he realized someone had stuck him down there.<p>

"DINOZZO!" Gibbs bellowed, slamming the door shut behind him.

After a moment, DiNozzo sheepishly slouched down the stairs, looking sullen.

"Why the hell did you cram the dog in the basement with my boat?" Gibbs demanded.

"I tried to play with him, and he bit me. Then he wouldn't stop growling at me," Tony sulked.

"How many times I gotta tell you to leave that dog alone _since he hates you_?"

"Won't happen again, Boss."

"PONY!" screamed Madeleine, noticing him suddenly. She scrambled up from her back—she'd dropped directly to the ground and started loving on Oz when she found him—and darted halfway up the stairs to meet DiNozzo.

He grinned and caught her, picking her up. He seemed to think twice about that when it winded his weak lungs, and he sat down heavily on the stairs and gave her a hug.

"Hey, Mads, where ya been?" he asked.

"California," she said primly. She tossed her hair and gave Tony a wide-eyed look. "Ducky called my mommy and told her you were sick and I prayed for you." She touched her Star of David necklace and showed it to him prominently. "I prayed so much, and you got better!"

"All thanks to you," DiNozzo said seriously

"Kiss," Madeleine ordered, holding the necklace higher. He pressed his lips to it solemnly, and she leaned forward, hugging him tightly again. She cuddled closer, and Gibbs rolled his eyes. Half the time, he was still hard-pressed to understand why Madeleine loved DiNozzo so much, but then other times it was glaringly obvious.

DiNozzo was a big goofy kid at heart, and his easygoing nature was attractive to most—except Kate, generally. He was good-hearted, trustworthy, and loyal, and even if Gibbs pretended to dislike most of DiNozzo's annoying obsessions and frustrating investigative tactics, they worked for him, and he'd probably end up asking Jen to let him make DiNozzo Maddie's godfather.

She'd like that.

"Did you sleep okay in my bed? I hope you snuggled with my stuffed duck. He is always helpful to sleep tight. Daddy says you have to stay here one more day, and then you go back to work. But Tony, on Saturday can you come to my school's Fall Festival, please? Please, please?" she chattered, hopping off his lap and jumping next to him.

DiNozzo raised his eyebrows at Gibbs.

Gibbs grumbled and glared and rolled his eyes, and finally nodded. He didn't see the harm in it—getting DiNozzo out in the crisp air after this cooped up recovery might help him get back on his game more quickly.

"Sure, kid, I'll go," DiNozzo agreed.

Madeleine beamed and jumped up and down again.

"I will take care of you now," she said, leaping down the stairs. She darted to the kitchen. "I will give you my favorite princess cup with apple juice. Daddy, I can nurse Pony now, you can stop!" she yelled.

DiNozzo looked relieved. He had thought spending a few days under Gibbs' supervision might give him some insight into the man, but Gibbs had all but bolted Tony into Madeleine's room and ordered him to sleep until he was physically unable to sleep anymore. Then he'd forced him to eat soup, thrown a case file at him to read, and made him go back to bed.

The idea of Madeleine nursing him was comical and welcome.

Gibbs turned on his heel and left DiNozzo sitting on the stairs, smirking when he heard Oz turn his eyes on the agent and start that threatening, suspicious growl he always did when DiNozzo was around.

He went into the kitchen to help Madeleine get DiNozzo some apple juice, glad that Oz had trapped Tony on the stairs so they had a moment alone.

Gibbs swept Madeleine up into a tight bear hug and kissed her on the cheeks, forehead, and temples, grinning at the sound of her squeals and sassy demands that he put her down.

"I missed you, Emmy Jane," he growled at her playfully.

Madeleine crinkled her nose primly and grabbed his face, arching her brows.

"You miss me, Ima miss me," she said matter-of-factly. "Someone always misses Maddie!" she exclaimed.

Gibbs tucked her head against his chest and hugged her again, struck dumb for a moment by how right she was, and how much he wished it didn't have to be that way.

* * *

><p>The weather was perfect on the day of Fall Festival, and Gibbs ended up glad that DiNozzo was tagging alone. He hadn't given a thought to supervision for Madeleine when he'd been roped into watching the lemonade stand, and it was good to have DiNozzo there so he could follow Madeleine around to all of the different booths.<p>

It was a good idea for a fundraiser. If Kelly had ever had things like this, Gibbs hadn't been around for them, but he found that ever single kid in the vicinity was having the time of his or her life. The parents were all either basket cases or tense pillars of frustration, but that seemed normal for an event where there were vast amounts of hyper children and wide open spaces.

Since Gibbs was charged with nothing more than passing plastic cups of lemonade to anyone who handed the sergeant sitting next to him a blue ticket, he was fine to sit quietly and flatter Madeleine when she came over with whatever new prize she had won—and occasionally provide cash for more blue tickets.

Madeleine was fairly good at the whole carnival games thing. Gibbs had a smile stack of knick knacks piled up by his feet—a kaleidoscope, a small plastic snake, a pair of maracas, and ribbon saying she'd come in second in a jump rope contest.

It was just after the lunch break, and the ever bubbly, blonde, and dazzling Minda Joy had finally retreated back to her post at the face painting table, leaving Gibbs and her husband—the army sergeant he was working the stand with—in peace.

Gibbs' eyes were narrow as he watched Minda sashay off.

"Your wife scares me," he grunted at the man sitting next to him.

"Yeah," Brent Joy said grudgingly. "Me too."

Gibbs arched his eyebrow and didn't say a word. He turned to him after a moment and smirked. Sergeant Joy was younger than he was by quite a few years, but he looked tired and battle-worn. Gibbs had discreetly learned from Tamara that he was just back from a third tour in Afghanistan.

"You marry her for her money?" quipped Gibbs.

"Nah, her looks," returned Sergeant Joy wryly, cracking a smile. He leaned back and put his hands behind his head, nodding in the direction of a playground obstacle course. His daughter was over there blowing a whistle at rule breakers. "Married her 'cause of Mindy," he said plainly, shrugging his shoulders. "Minda's from a real southern family, real conservative Christian. They didn't take to kindly to an unplanned pregnancy, so I married 'er."

Gibbs nodded slowly, tilting his head at the little girl who was still blowing her whistle.

"Don't get me wrong, I love Minda. And I wouldn't trade Mindy for the world, but sometimes you wonder if that's who you would have ended up with, if there hadn't been that accident."

Gibbs snorted at the comment; it rang painstakingly true with him. Would he ever have seen Jenny again if there hadn't been Madeleine? Would he even have cared, once the pain had faded and she'd become a memory?

"I was on leave in South Carolina for the summer when I met her. Didn't expect to come out of leave married. Scrapped the idea of usin' the GI bill for college and stayed in the army to support her. Then nine-eleven hit."

A hard look came over Gibbs' face.

"That's a bitch," he growled.

"You're tellin' me. I shipped out two weeks later. Mindy was only 'bout a year old. Didn't see her again until she was two. Shipped out again two months later, then missed her third birthday and most of that year," Sergeant Joy shook his head. "Hell, I been gone so much, her mother and I don't know how to live together," he laughed.

"Been there," Gibbs drawled—and he had, both with Shannon and Jenny.

"'M almost glad I ran afoul of that IED," Joy said dryly, tapping his metal leg. "Means I get to be home."

Gibbs looked down and swallowed, struck by the strange things some people considered a blessing. Here this man thought loss of limb was a good thing, while Gibbs was considering California to be a great place for Jenny to live. It was maddening, completely maddening.

"You two were young when you had Mindy?"

"Me? I was twenty-one," Sergeant Joy answered. "Minda, ah. Well, she was just shy of eighteen when she got pregnant."

"Ah," Gibbs said, smirking.

"Yeah," drawled the sergeant.

Gibbs shook his head in disbelief, staring across the way at Minda Joy, maniac, hair-sprayed PTA leader. It was hard to believe that woman was just about twenty-_four_. It made Gibbs feel impossibly old.

Sergeant Joy laughed.

"I think she married my uniform," he drawled.

"Yeah, well," Gibbs agreed, "some women get the hots for it."

Joy nodded his head smoothly and leaned forward to take a blue ticket from a third grader who was hopping up and down anxiously. Gibbs passed over a cup of lemonade, and then the next customer hopped up, blonde ponytail swinging.

"Hi, Agent Gibbs," Emily said politely, handing over her ticket and skipping up for a cup of lemonade.

"Hey, Em," he said, looking around warily. "Your mom here?"

"No, my grandmother brought me," Emily said. "Dad's working and Mom won't bring the baby around too many people," she said, taking her lemonade and sipping it for a moment. "I saw Madeleine by the gold fish ring toss. She's trying really hard to win one!"

Emily waved at him and hopped off, meeting a friend of hers and scampering away.

"Goldfish toss," snorted Sergeant Joy. "Most popular game around here for the kids," he groused. "Mindy won four of the damn things last year."

"Jesus," muttered Gibbs.

He'd told Madeleine she could have a goldfish if she won it, knowing full well she had terrible aim and was never going to get the three rings in a row necessary to score a fish. He was comforted by the thought of Madeleine's poor baseball skills and relaxed.

Joy snorted and pointed forward.

"This big goon's been driving my wife crazy all morning," he said, chuckling. "He keeps givin' the kids piggy back rides, and she's worried all the other parents are gonna flip. But s'long as he's flashin' that smile at the moms, he's golden, eh?"

Gibbs was too busy glaring to answer, because the big goon Joy was referring to was none other than Tony DiNozzo. He had been transporting Madeleine around on piggy back, willingly, but she'd apparently decided to start charging tickets for his services, and other kids—even some older than her—were buying into it.

"Madeleine," Gibbs said sharply, crooking his finger. "Come here."

She skipped over, leaving DiNozzo amidst a circle of first graders. One little girl was very aggressively demanding she be given two piggyback rides in a row.

"You are swindling your classmates," Gibbs growled reprovingly.

"Nuh-uh, I'm fundraising," she retorted, hands on her hips. "And Pony _likes_ it. He's a Pony."

Gibbs touched her shoulder lightly.

"Pony was sick earlier this week," he reminded her. "He's not your mule. Stop taking tickets for Pony rides, and go win another prize," he ordered.

"But DADDY—"

"Now."

Madeleine sighed and ran back to Tony, explaining what had happened. Tony pretended to collapse at her feet in relief and she laughed, grabbing his hand and dragging him to his feet and off with her again.

Gibbs rolled his eyes, and Sergeant Joy grinned.

"We like Madeleine," he complimented. "Minda and I. She's a sweetheart."

"Thanks," Gibbs said cordially and leaned forward to glare at a fifth-grader who'd just tried to snatch free lemonade.

Ten minutes later, Madeleine came skipping up smugly with two goldfish in plastic baggies dangling from her hands, and Gibbs realized he'd made a mistake in sending her off to win prizes with DiNozzo when he remembered DiNozzo had played college basketball—and had a hell of a free-throw arm.

* * *

><p>Halloween was on a school night this year, and since Madeleine was still young with an early bedtime, he didn't put as much emphasis on trick-or-treating. She dragged DiNozzo along again, and they took her around his neighborhood and half of the next while Gibbs gave Abby permission to set up a sort of Halloween party at his house.<p>

When they returned, Madeleine with her Dorothy basket full of candy and DiNozzo skulking along at a distance to avoid the dog Madeleine had insisted they bring, Abby had the place mildly decorated and opened the door in full Wicked Witch of the West costume. The eerie effect of her green make-up was broken by the ever-present smile on her face.

"Did you get a lot of candy, my pretty?" she cackled at Madeleine, as Madeleine skipped inside in her Dorothy costume, her two braids flying behind her.

"Yes!" she answered. "I got a Hershey bar! That's my favorite!" she yelled.

"Ooh, mine too," Kate said, appearing from the kitchen. She smiled and held out her hand for Madeleine, and Madeleine gave her a high-five. She looked up at Kate and beamed.

"Did you fly here in a bubble, Kate?" she giggled, as Kate was dressed as Glinda the Good Witch—minus the huge pink dress. She'd settled for something a little more muted. Kate laughed.

"It was in the shop," she said. "I came with the tin man," she added, jerking her thumb at McGee.

"Timmy," Madeleine said, running up to him and hugging his knees. "Pony was wrong. You shouldn't be the cowardly lion, Pony's cowardly! He's scared of Oz!"

"Hey," snapped DiNozzo, glaring at Madeleine. "Oz tries to bite me!"

Madeleine whipped around and put her hands on her hips.

"Hey," she said back sassily. "You stop making faces at him that scare him."

DiNozzo pointed to his face, outraged.

"This is just how I _look_!" he protested.

Gibbs hit him on the back of his head and slipped his shoes off at the door. DiNozzo was dressed as the cowardly lion, with ears and a mane on his head, and he was doing a spectacular job of looking as pissed as possible about it. Gibbs had managed to swindle Madeleine into believing he was dressed as the Wizard, so he didn't have a costume at all.

"Come in here, little Dorothy," Abby called, nudging Madeleine towards the kitchen. "I have a pretty bowl for your candy treasure, and Glinda and I made witch cookies."

"Did you bring any flying monkeys?" Madeleine asked Abby, her eyes wide.

"No, they're all in the kennel for the holiday. Oz is a long way from D.C., you know…"

Gibbs shook his head and carried Madeleine's coat into her room, laying it on the bed. He'd made her bring it in case she got cold, but she'd insisted she was warm as could be and refused to put it on. He crouched by Madeleine's bureau and peered at the goldfish swimming around in the bowl he'd been forced to buy for them. Madeleine had named them Kate and Ziva, and they were the most boring animals on the face of the planet.

One of them swam up to his face, and then swam away, unconcerned. Gibbs left the room and went back into his living room to supervise the place. He'd allowed Abby to have a party here as long as everyone—bar DiNozzo, who was still staying here—was gone by nine o'clock. He'd taken Madeleine for trick-or-treating at five.

"Daddy," Madeleine darted up to him when he reappeared and handed him a cup and a top. "Put the top on this, please, so I don't spill."

He glanced at the liquid inside, making sure it was some sort of juice, but frowned when he caught sight of a plastic eyeball floating in it.

"_Abby_," he growled.

She laughed at him.

"What, Gibbs?" she teased. "Maddie laughed."

He grumbled and capped the cup for Madeleine, handing it to her slowly and giving Abby a wary look.

"Don't turn her into—" he paused.

Abby cocked an eyebrow and put a hand on her hip.

"Me?" she asked, tilting her head with amusement. She pursed her lips. "You mean a highly intelligent, incredibly successful, published forensic scientist with a good job, stable friendships, and a heart of gold? Or did you mean Goth?"

Gibbs looked a bit sheepish, and Abby twirled up to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"I'm teasing you," she said, but gave him a look nonetheless. "You promise me you'll never disapprove if Madeleine ever wants to tattoo spider webs on her neck," she added.

Gibbs, grumbling a little, got the point Abby was making, and nodded curtly. He looked over at the couch—and all of DiNozzo's crap that was spread out all over it—and rolled his eyes. He was tempted to ask Tony what the hell he was still doing here, but he also kept unfortunately remembering that he had asked for that to happen.

DiNozzo's presence was making it incredibly difficult to get Madeleine to bed at night, as she seemed to think it was all a sleepover now that he was here to spout trivia facts during every movie she watched. Gibbs had also been slightly affronted last night when she'd made DiNozzo read her a bedtime story instead of him.

Gibbs wandered into the living room further, where Kate was on the floor helping Madeleine sort through her candy.

"You put what you like in the basket," Kate instructed, "and everything else in a charity pile, for other people to pick from."

"Except I want to give Daddy's favorites to him so no one else can take it," Madeleine said.

"Okay, this will be our Gibbs pile," Kate agreed, as DiNozzo crept up with interest.

"What's Gibbs' favorite candy?" he asked curiously, eager for more inside information about the Boss Man.

Gibbs didn't answer, but Madeleine chucked a candy bar at her dad and spoke for him.

"Almond Joy," she said, chucking another one at him. She picked up another one and threw that, too, giggling when Gibbs failed to catch them—because they were aimed at his shins.

Oz bounded over and lapped up two of the candy bars into his mouth, and McGee popped the dog's nose and retrieved them.

"Uh," he said. "I don't think you want these, Boss."

Gibbs glared at him and then took Oz by his collar.

"C'mon, bud," he ordered, taking him and putting him in the back yard. If Madeleine was going to sort candy on the floor, it was just better for the St. Bernard to be safely tucked away outside. He shut the door to the back and shoved some of DiNozzo's stuff to one end of the sofa, sitting down to watch Madeleine sort candy. Abby came in and perched on the edge next to him shaking a tin of orange cookies at him.

"Snicker doodle?" she offered.

He glared at them suspiciously.

"It's orange food colouring," she prompted temptingly. "The black dots are licorice, for eyes and jack-o-lantern mouths."

DiNozzo appeared from nowhere and took two eagerly, passing one to McGee and devouring the other. Gibbs turned one down, but Madeleine perked up and asked for one.

"Wait," Gibbs said, as Abby started to hand the cookie over. "How much candy have you had?"

He'd let her have a Jolly Rancher sucker while she was going around the neighborhood, but it was possible she'd snuck something else while his back was turned or since they'd gotten home. Madeleine hesitated, wrinkled her nose, and then held up five fingers. He frowned—she should get points for being that honest, but five was a lot and he didn't want her up all night.

"Gibbs," Abby coaxed under her breath, batting her lashes.

He rolled his eyes.

"One," he said sternly. "One cookie."

Madeleine thanked him and took it, biting it in half and holding part of it in one hand while she continued to sort her food. Abby rested one hand on her knee and watched, and Gibbs leaned over to examine the ring on her finger, getting a good look at it for the first time—well, for the first time on her ring finger, that is.

Abby noticed him looking and wriggled her hand.

"Timmy did good, didn't he?" she asked, beaming.

"Suits you, Abs," Gibbs said carefully.

She held up her hand to the light.

"Abby says I get to throw flowers at her wedding," Madeleine piped up.

"Do you?"

"Gibbs, you'll let me have Maddie in the wedding, right?" Abby asked.

"'Course," he consented.

"Good," Abby preened. "Kate's going to be my Zombie Maid of Honor."

Gibbs looked around at Abby warily, but Kate shot him a look.

"Don't ask," she warned.

"Oh, he has to ask," Abby said brightly. "He has to find out sometime. I'm asking him to walk me down the aisle," she said, looping her arm through his. "If he isn't too tired of walking down aisles," she teased.

Gibbs looked at Abby mildly, narrowing his eyes.

"Me?" he asked.

She shrugged.

"Yeah, Gibbs, you," she retorted, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. "My dad died years ago, you know that. You gave me a hug when you heard, remember?" He did remember that day; it had been shortly after she started working at NCIS. "It's not too much pressure, though, I asked Ducky, too. You're both going to do it."

Gibbs nodded slowly, silently agreeing. He smiled at Abby and squeezed her hand. He caught McGee looking at him apprehensively and shot him a withering glare just for fun. McGee turned red, but there was really no need for the kid to be worried. He'd never admit it out loud, but he _liked_ that the two of them were getting married. Marriages, those that were bound to last like this one probably would, were _nice_.

"I'm just hoping McGee picks a handsome, single best man," Kate said, laughing. "That way I can snag the bouquet and be next in line, shut my mother up about being the last one unmarried."

"Funny that you say that, Kate," Tony guffawed through a mouthful of cookie. "'Cause I'm Tim's best man."

"_What_?" Kate asked, blanching. She looked at McGee. "McGee, you didn't. You said—"

McGee looked sheepish.

"He couldn't commit," McGee said apologetically.

"Probie!" screeched DiNozzo. "I was your second choice?"

"Shut up, DiNozzo," groused Kate. "You think you've got it bad, I've got to be escorted down an aisle by _you_."

"Maybe next time we'll be the ones getting married Katie," Tony retorted, snickering.

"Over my dead body."

"Caitlin DiNozzo has a nice ring to it—"

Kate leapt up and attacked Tony, using the brunt of her strength and his plague-induced weakness against him to knock him to the ground in a headlock. Abby watched, bemused, and Madeleine giggled, finishing the rest of her cookie.

"I'll marry you, Pony," she said loudly.

"Thanks, princess," DiNozzo panted hoarsely, fighting Kate. "Knew I could count on you."

Gibbs looked darkly between them.

"It's bed time," he announced.

"Abby said we're going to watch _Hocus Pocus_, though, Daddy!" whined Madeleine.

"I mean it's bath time and settle down time," Gibbs amended roughly. "Get out of that costume, I'll get you a bath, and then you can start the movie." He pointed at the heap of fighting agents. "McGee. Break that up. They're setting a bad example."

He took Madeleine's hand and led her towards her bathroom.

* * *

><p>DiNozzo fell asleep ten minutes into the Disney Halloween movie, and Kate spent the entire rest of the film stuffing popcorn into all of the socks he'd brought as payback for suggesting she'd ever marry him. Gibbs let her do it, amused, and spent his time warily watching the movie, worried it would scare Madeleine.<p>

"Daddy," she said, looking up at him. "I want to talk to Mommy."

"It's too late," he said, shaking his head.

"But she didn't call," Madeleine said.

"Well, she's busy," Gibbs reminded her. "She calls when she can, you know that."

"But Daddy, she said she would call when she got back to Cairo," Madeleine whined. "She did not."

Gibbs looked at her for a moment, thinking about what she'd said. Jenny must have told Madeleine she would call at that point, because he didn't remember any promise of the sort. He was sure she had just gotten busy; Madeleine had returned from California on Wednesday and it was Monday. Jenny was surely hustling to catch up on whatever had gone down while she was stateside.

He stroked Madeleine's hair.

"She's fine, Emmy," he soothed.

"Are you sure?" Madeleine asked skeptically.

He nodded, pulling her back towards his chest where she'd been snuggled up.

"I'm sure," he muttered.

Madeleine's thumb gravitated towards her mouth and she poked herself in the lip a few times, frowning. Kate looked up from the sock she was currently stuffing,\ and smiled.

"There's lots of time changes and urgent business between here and Cairo," she said kindly.

Madeleine nodded at her but shrugged her shoulders. She went back to watching the movie for a moment, and then her hand fell to her Star of David necklace and she looked down at it, touching it with her fingers thoughtfully.

"Kate," she said. "It is almost Tali's birthday."

"Tali?" Kate asked.

"She died," Madeleine said. She tapped the necklace. "This is hers."

Kate tilted her head, smiling a little.

"It's very pretty. I've always thought that was pretty," she complimented.

"Before Tali's birthday is Zee's birthday," Madeleine said. "Ziva. She is Tali's sister. She is the other fish. Fish Kate, and Fish Ziva," Madeleine reminded Kate. Kate smiled, but Madeleine frowned. "Daddy," she said again. "Mommy might come to here."

Gibbs' mouth twitched a little, and he furrowed his brow.

"She tell you that?" he asked.

McGee and Abby looked over suddenly, pulling away from the movie to listen in. DiNozzo snored loudly in his sleep, and Kate rolled her eyes.

"I heard Mr. Decker said it," Madeleine murmured. "But when Mommy left Tel Aviv, it was 'cause Tali died."

"Madeleine," Gibbs said, exasperated. "You've had too much sugar," he reprimanded.

She glared at him and went silent, pouting. She turned her sullen look on the television for a while, and when a musical number broke out, she turned back and tilted her head up at him defiantly.

"My stomach hurts," she informed him stubbornly.

She narrowed her eyes, and he arched an eyebrow.

"Too much sugar," he repeated.

"Gibbs," Abby said quietly, an odd look in her eyes as she eyed Madeleine from across the room. "I think she's talking about her gut."

Gibbs looked down at his daughter and frowned, uncertain suddenly. Madeleine blinked at him, and then put her head on his chest, seeking comfort. He grimaced, sensing she was upset, and shifted, indicating silently that he was going to take her and tuck her into bed.

Kate waved a goodbye, still stuffing popcorn into DiNozzo's socks, and Gibbs rested his hand on the back of Madeleine's head, ignoring his rule that she was too old to be carried.

That night, Gibbs had the dream again—the one he'd had back in May, the one with Kate dead on an autopsy slab, a bullet hole centered between her eyes.

* * *

><p>Ziva sat before her father's desk, her eyes red and heavy, as he paced angrily. The Director of Mossad waved his arms violently and shouted to himself in Hebrew, while his daughter struggled to keep her worn eyes open, her back straight, and her senses alert.<p>

Eli turned and slammed his hands down on his desk.

"I demand to know what his whereabouts are!" he bellowed.

"I tell you again that I do not know," Ziva answered.

"You are his control officer, David!" Eli shouted. "You are responsible for monitoring his movements."

"You are the man who instructed me to slacken his leash so that he could perform the necessary tasks to ingratiate himself with this cell!" Ziva barked.

"I did not tell you to let him hang himself!" Eli growled. He thrust a hand forward. "You tell me you hear nothing from him for days, you tell me he lands in the U.S. capitol and disappears from the grid, and yet I receive a call from the American agencies demanding to know why I've sent a renegade Mossad officer after one of their own!" Eli laughed sardonically. "These Americans, they are jumpy, they think Ari has taken it upon himself to enact a vendetta against Agent Gibbs—Agent Gibbs!" spat Eli. "That man has been a thorn in my side since that fool woman spawned his child."

Ziva's eyes narrowed; the line of her mouth hardened. She used her strength to remain cool and collected, allowing nothing to show on her face or in her body language, forcing everything she thought and everything she wanted to say to simmer beneath the surface.

"Ziva. Ziva," Eli snapped. "Ziva, you look at me."

She turned her eyes to her father's coldly.

"It is imperative that Ari earn the trust of this Al-Qaeda cell."

"You do not have to impress upon me the necessity of his position," Ziva hissed. "I orchestrated this. I made sure he had the in. I took great risks. I am still taking great risks. Should Ari make one miniscule mistake, he could be responsible for the deaths of millions, and that will be on my hands. You want him to become a deeper mole; I want him to prevent the attack this cell has been mounting for months."

Eli didn't take kindly to her veiled accusation of his indifference to loss of life, and he swore at her and turned his back. He whirled around again.

"Contact Agent Gibbs," he growled. "He trusts you. Invoke his assistance."

"I will not ask Agent Gibbs to assist Ari in any way," Ziva said firmly.

"Dammit, Ziva, it will prove to the FBI that Ari has no intention of harming Agent Gibbs!"

Ziva said nothing. Deep down, she couldn't be sure her brother wouldn't harm Agent Gibbs. For all of her certainty that he would never harm Madeleine, she knew his hatred of Gibbs ran deep, and she knew how powerful hatred could be.

Her silence enraged Eli, panicked him. They were in a tense situation. It was all unstable; Ari's mission, Mossad's involvement, the uncertainty of the Americans' cooperation. Mossad was keeping everyone in the dark, the U.S. was wary of everyone, and NCIS was amidst an avalanche of regime switch-ups.

In the middle of all of this, was the colossal instability that was Ari Haswari.

A pale look overtook Eli's face and he collapsed in his chair. He held out his hand.

"Is it possible, Ziva?" he asked. "My daughter," he said lowering his voice. "Is it possible that I have been wrong? That this mole I have groomed—is a wolf in sheep's clothing."

Ziva inclined her head.

"I do not comprehend the idiom," she remarked icily, never as good with them as her dear father was.

Eli waved his hand and leaned forward, interlocking his fingers. He hesitated.

"What is in your heart, Ziva?" he demanded. "What does your soul tell you? Is Ari to be trusted?"

Ziva stood up abruptly, overwhelming emotion coursing through her.

"You accuse him after what he has done for you, what he has sacrificed," she hissed. "His mother. His life. The woman he once loved in Gaza. _Tali_. You show such little faith," she railed, her voice shaking with anger.

Ari was all she had left. He was the teasing big brother she'd known as a child. He was the strong shoulder who'd carried her in the orchards all those times her father had been working, neglecting her, turning his back. Ari was the only remnant of a childhood she could hardly believe she had now that her hands were soaked in blood and there seemed to be ash and splinters and shrapnel constantly at her feet.

She had felt these doubts about Ari, but she had murdered them. She had crushed them, reasoned them away; she could not believe them. He was harsh and he could be cruel, but it was so he would not feel. She had to believe that. She had to hold on to something, some shred—of peace.

"He is my brother," she said harshly. "He is my family. My heart tells me—he is my _brother_."

"And what am I to you, daughter?" Eli asked heavily.

Her lips were white.

"You are the Director of Mossad," she answered hollowly.

She saw the brief flash of pain that flared in his eyes, and she suddenly felt it, too, and she was sorry she was so disillusioned with him—she was sorry she could barely love her father like she so used to love him, but she had lost so much.

Eli David smiled sarcastically.

"Your Director orders you to follow Officer Haswari to Washington," he said bluntly. "Stalk him as a predator stalks prey, and ensure he walks the line."

Ziva inclined her head mechanically, folding her arms in front of her in a stance reminiscent of her IDF days.

"When do I depart?"

Eli looked at his watch.

"Thirty-six hours," he growled. His eyes met his daughter's harshly, still wounded from her icy slight. "You took it upon yourself to be his control officer, Ziva. I do hope you have the clout to neutralize the asset if such becomes necessary."

Ziva felt as if she had been slapped; was she, too, simply an asset to Eli David?

She nodded curtly, her expression blank.

"I have always done my job."

* * *

><p>"Is that Tony?"<p>

Kate jumped a mile when she heard McGee's voice and scrambled to close up her sketchpad. She blushed, flustered to be caught drawing—and drawing DiNozzo, at that—when she was supposed to be working, and shoved her pencil and the pad into a drawer.

"No," she muttered curtly.

"Are you sure? It looks—"

"Is there a reason you've been haunting my desk all week?" she attacked.

"Uh," muttered McGee. "Uh, no, I was just—"

"Or maybe you just decided to take over DiNozzo's job of annoying me while he's on sick leave," she growled, standing up and advancing on McGee.

"I—I just…well, I just wanted to check that everything was, uh, okay!" he spluttered.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Kate demanded.

"You and Tony were close," muttered McGee earnestly. "And…you know."

"No, I don't know," retorted Kate stubbornly. She held out her hands. "I saw him on Halloween a week ago. That was enough. And—we're not close! He's like an older—one of my brothers."

"Siblings are pretty close," McGee pointed out.

Kate glared at him.

"He almost died!" McGee said seriously.

Kate sighed.

"We're NCIS agents, McGee. There's a chance one of us might die every time we walk through the door," she said bluntly. She turned and marched back to her desk, and McGee sighed, tucking is hands into his pockets.

"Yeah, but I'm the idiot that handed him an envelope filled with plague," he muttered finally, admitting to the guilt that kept bothering him.

Kate tilted her head at him sympathetically.

"Tim," she said kindly, moving over to him again. "It's not your fault," she comforted. "Look, if you want to think about something, why don't you think about all of the times that Tony has insulted us. Invaded our privacy. The fact that he almost died owing us all money."

McGee pursed his lips.

"That's true. He can be pretty obnoxious," he acknowledged slowly.

"Yeah," Kate said brightly.

The phone on DiNozzo's desk rang, and both agents turned to look. Kate frowned suddenly.

"You miss him as much as I do?" McGee asked sullenly after the fourth ring.

Kate sighed heavily.

"More," she admitted. "It's part of his charm. He's like an x-rated Peter Pan," she mused, turning and trudging back to her desk. She glanced at McGee, trying to take her own advice. "You know he told all the girls downstairs you're gay, right?" she asked casually.

McGee folded is arms, outraged.

"He said it would cut down on the competition."

McGee's face contorted.

"That bastard."

Kate held out her hands and smiled sweetly.

"Hold on to that feeling. You're gonna be just fine."

"You wanna know what he said about you?" McGee asked rapidly.

"Hm?"

"That you tried to sleep with him when you were in Paraguay."

The smile on Kate's face faded. She glared narrowly.

"I will _kill_ him."

* * *

><p>In the elevator, Gibbs prowled around DiNozzo, eyeing him warily.<p>

"You sure you're ready for this?" he growled skeptically.

DiNozzo had gone home to recover two days after Halloween, but his frequent check-ups were still recommending he stay home from work. His respiratory system was still damaged, and Gibbs could tell that DiNozzo's few attempts to act like everything was fine—the Halloween party, the Fall Festival—had really done more damage than good.

DiNozzo looked pointedly away from Gibbs.

"Never felt better," he said coolly.

Gibbs turned and looked at him.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," DiNozzo retorted, enthusiastic.

Gibbs smirked.

"You look like crap."

"I love you too, Boss," DiNozzo answered dully, narrowing his eyes. Gibbs shook his head and looked at the elevator doors.

"You've got another week of sick leave comin', Tony. You should take it," Gibbs advised.

"I was goin' crazy at home," DiNozzo answered. He hadn't been too stir crazy while he had Madeleine to entertain him half the time, but when he'd gone back to his apartment, the cabin fever had really started to set in. "I been thinkin' I should have a kid, you know, so I'll have someone to talk to," he drawled.

Gibbs snorted.

"You'd have to find a woman to stick with you first," he drawled.

DiNozzo arched an eyebrow.

"I don't see your woman hanging around."

Gibbs turned and raised his hand, but seemed to realize he couldn't get a good angle on a head slap. DiNozzo grinned.

"Maybe I'm not a hundred percent," he conceded. "But you need me."

Gibbs smiled at him, amused.

"Okay," DiNozzo muttered. "What about Kate and McGee? They're practically lost without me," he sighed dramatically.

Gibbs laughed under his breath.

"They've gotten more work done the past two weeks than they have all year," he said simply, exiting the elevator and strolling down to the bullpen.

DiNozzo hurried after him.

"They did miss me, right?" he asked earnestly.

"Yeah," Gibbs answered. "Somethin' like that."

DiNozzo grinned and hopped along, ducking down as they came up to the bullpen.

"I can't wait to see their faces," he laughed.

Gibbs shook his head and stormed right to his desk, snorting under his breath when he heard DiNozzo greet Kate spastically only to have her completely ignore him. DiNozzo turned to McGee next—who _also_ completely ignored him. As Kate came up with a report for a case, Gibbs caught the wounded puppy look on DiNozzo's face and almost felt sorry for him.

"Virginia state police just got a nine-one-one call, Gibbs," Kate began matter-of-factly, "two dead sailors."

"Where?" Gibbs asked curtly.

"In a car off route seventeen, in Fredericksburg."

Gibbs nodded, took the directions from Kate's hand, and grabbed his gear.

"Let's roll," he ordered. "Gas the truck," he said, chucking the keys over DiNozzo's hopeful head to McGee.

DiNozzo looked heartbroken.

"Maybe I did die," he said, clearly baffled by his lack of warm welcome.

"Feel that?" Gibbs asked.

"Feel what?" DiNozzo asked warily.

Gibbs head slapped him, and DiNozzo shrieked.

"Welcome back, DiNozzo," drawled Gibbs.

* * *

><p>DiNozzo brooded all the way to the scene, but he bucked up a little when they arrived and the murders turned out to be rather brutal. There was a lot to do, and so he had a way to keep himself occupied.<p>

"Looks like the shooter knew what he was doing, Gibbs," Kate said grimly, surveying the bodies of the two young sailors. She snapped a few pictures. "Tight groupings. Three rounds each."

"Every one of them a kill shot," Gibbs muttered. He reached into the pockets of the corpses for identification and struck gold. "Passenger's Curtis Janson, Pensacola Florida. No military ID. Credit cards and money are intact."

"So, it wasn't a robbery."

"Depends," Gibbs growled, shrugging.

"On what?"

"On what else is missing, Kate," he pointed out simply, pacing around the car.

Kate took a few more pictures, zeroing in on towels that had been left in the dead guys' bloody laps.

"Looks like the killer tried to clean up," she mused.

Gibbs, smelling a trap, snatched the white towel out of the dead driver's lap.

"Not exactly," he muttered, as Kate let out a gasp of horror upon seeing the man's hands severed from his body—and nowhere to be found in the vehicle. "We know he took at least two things with him when he left," Gibbs said dryly.

"Boss," DiNozzo yelled, approaching. "State cops ran the mustang—it's a rental car, out of Dulles airport. I gotta call in to this—"

DiNozzo suddenly broke off, and Gibbs glanced over just in time to see him trip over a tree root and fall, head over heels completely, down the grassy knoll to where the car was and sprawl heavily in a heap at Kate's feet. She looked as if she didn't know whether to laugh or pat him sympathetically on the head.

"Are you okay?" Gibbs asked vaguely.

"I'm, uh, just startin' to catch my breath," DiNozzo panted.

"Shoulda taken that extra week off, DiNozzo," Gibbs said loudly, jogging up the slope to talk to the LEOs himself. "Help 'im up, Kate, I'm going to see what's keeping Ducky."

He caught up to McGee as he was unpacking the truck, glancing around for the still absent medical examiner.

"Where are they, McGee?" he demanded.

"Uh, Palmer must have taken a wrong turn again, Boss," he said simply.

Mere seconds later, Ducky and Palmer drove up. The truck's windows were down, and the two men were bickering loudly—Ducky seemed to be the most upset. Gibbs silently opened the door for Ducky and ignored the snippy apology the doctor gave him. He jogged back to see if Ducky needed any assistance and sent McGee on down the slope to help Kate and DiNozzo bag the car.

Ducky and Jimmy were still bickering like an old married couple, and after a moment of irritated eavesdropping, Gibbs moseyed back to recap what a state trooper had already told Kate. He waved that guy off and looked down as his phone started ringing. His brow furrowed when he saw Jen's name, and he answered quickly.

"Jen?" he said, slightly concerned she'd be calling at this time.

"Are you all right?" she demanded immediately upon hearing his voice.

He frowned. The bad feeling he'd had in his gut since he woke up this morning flared, and he narrowed his eyes.

"Yeah," he answered slowly.

"You are?" she clarified. "What's going on over there, Jethro? Ziva just called me—"

"Nothing," Gibbs drawled slowly. He glared at no one in particular, swiping his hat off his head and pacing a few feet. "I'm at a crime scene, Jen, everything's normal, Maddie's at school—"

"You need to pick Madeleine up," Jenny said sharply. "I want you to go get her. The FBI is keeping Morrow out of the loop again—"

"Jenny, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Jethro, you and I need to talk, not now, but I'm—you need to know what's coming so you aren't blindsided, but aside from that, Ziva's telling me that Has—"

Before he could hear what Ziva was telling Jenny, and before he could process the idea that she was saying he needed to get Madeleine from school immediately, Kate and McGee came charging up the hill screaming.

"THE CAR, IT'S THE CAR—IT'S RIGGED TO EXPLODE-!"

The last of their words were drowned out as a burst of fire lit up the side of the slope and they all hit the deck, Gibbs' cell phone flying out of his hand. He covered his head and flinched away as a tire rolled towards his face, slamming into his cell and crushing it.

Kate sat up and whirled around, her face panicked.

"TONY!" she screamed.

Momentarily, Jenny was wiped from his mind. He turned rapidly, leaping to his feet. DiNozzo hadn't run with Kate and McGee—and he was nowhere to be seen. Ducky and Jimmy started running towards the side of the road, and Gibbs stepped forward in time to see DiNozzo crawling up the hillside, looking twice as bad as he had this morning.

"Boss," he croaked weakly. "Remember when I said I never felt better?" he asked, holding his head up and blinking. "I lied," he confessed, and dropped heavily on the pavement.

Gibbs stormed forward and crouched by DiNozzo, reaching down to take his pulse. It was strong, but DiNozzo was unconscious and breathing shallowly—probably shocked and concussed from the explosion.

Gibbs started barking commands and had McGee come help him get DiNozzo up and over towards the truck. They sat him down and held him between them as they waited for Ducky to revive him, and Gibbs turned and looked at the smoke as it billowed away from the tangled mess of the car.

Kate, pale in the face, bit her lip and hugged herself, meeting Gibbs' eyes worried.

He thought for a moment that his gut had been acting up because the car was rigged, but when he met Kate's troubled eyes, he realized that this explosive occurrence had only intensified the bad feeling plaguing him.

* * *

><p>Ducky told him the mangled, charred bodies from the car were confirmed by dental records to be those of Curtis Janson, whom Gibbs had identified at the scene, and Dean Westfall. Armed with this information, Gibbs left autopsy after ordering DiNozzo to lie down somewhere.<p>

He demanded McGee's cell phone from him and retreated to the elevator to call Jen, intent on insuring her he was okay. He got no answer, and that angered him slightly—what could have happened in this relatively short span of time that she wasn't waiting by the phone to hear from him?

When he got nothing from her, he called Madeleine's school. Her teachers, baffled by his urgency, said everything was fine—and again, he felt frustrated. What the hell _had_ Jen been calling him about? What had she meant when she said they needed to talk—and what could possibly have freaked her out enough that she had demanded he get Madeleine out of school?

Gibbs gripped McGee's cell phone tightly, trying to think of something that would provoke Jenny to fear for Madeleine's safety from all the way in Egypt. Did she have information that someone she had flouted was in the country, looking for ways to hurt her? Jenny had told him the people who had held Jenny hostage in Cairo were dead; Ziva had murdered them all, there was no one else—

Gibbs stopped, and put his palm against the cool elevator wall, his eyes narrowing.

He stormed out of the elevator and spotted DiNozzo crouching behind his desk. He glared at him violently, no longer in the mood to deal with child's play.

"Hey," he barked. "I thought I told you to lie down."

"I was," growled DiNozzo, shaking water out of his hair. Gibbs spied a water bottle in Kate's hands and decided not to ask about that one. DiNozzo shot a glare at Kate and then started to lay back down.

"Not here," Gibbs ordered, and DiNozzo sighed, standing up sullenly.

Gibbs watched him go, ensuring he marched his ass right to the elevator and took it out of the main floor, and then he sat down and chucked McGee his cell phone back, sitting tensely for a moment at his desk.

"I'm going for coffee," he growled violently, standing up again.

Shocked by his sudden change in mood, McGee and Kate stared after him as he marched out.

* * *

><p>Gibbs walked into autopsy post-coffee trip in time to hear Abby explaining—much too cheerily—to Tony that the explosives used on the vehicle were not traceable, impossible as that sounded. He reached down and helped her up from the floor, leaving DiNozzo sprawled tiredly before her refrigerator and dragged her over to her equipment.<p>

"Abs," he demanded. "You sure these explosives aren't traceable?"

He wanted to know how his entire team had almost ended up road kill this morning, and he wanted to know now.

"So far," Abby confirmed. "But I'm still checking."

"What about the detonator?" prompted Gibbs.

"Also weird. The electronics are fairly simply, but there's no serial numbers on anything. It's like it's been sanitized."

Gibbs knew what it meant; he could feel it. That car bomb had been _meant_ for them. There was something sinister at the root of this case, and he felt like the answers were just out of reach of his fingertips, or just on the tip of his tongue. It was impossible that Jenny calling him was a coincidence, and he needed to get in touch with her immediately.

He backtracked to Abby, suddenly uncaring as to whether or not DiNozzo overheard.

"Abs," he said firmly. "I need you to get in contact with Jen," he ordered. "Keep calling until you get her; then call me," he ordered. "And _keep_ her on the line."

Abby looked a little worried, and she nodded earnestly.

"Okay, Gibbs," she agreed, and he turned on his heel.

"Let's go, DiNozzo," he said flippantly, sorry he had to use DiNozzo even though he'd prefer he stayed and rested. DiNozzo dragged himself up from the floor with a groan.

"Who's Jen?" he asked smugly.

Gibbs ignored him and stormed out the door.

They had way bigger problems.

"Someone's' trying to kill us again."

* * *

><p>McGee told him an anonymous individual made the emergency call, and it—like the explosives—was untraceable. Kate told him that both of the lieutenants that had been killed were pilots. Jenson was a pilot from Pensacola on leave to visit Westfall, and Westfall was a pilot stationed at Aberdeen in Maryland, where new military equipment was tested.<p>

He set Kate on finding out what Westfall had been working on at Aberdeen, left the team in the bullpen, stunned to find out that someone really was trying to kill them, and made his way up to MTAC for the meeting he'd asked for with Director Morrow.

"You're certain about this, Jethro?" Morrow asked, after Gibbs had sat down next to him and quietly explained the day's events.

"Someone went through a lot of trouble to try and get us out there on that road today, Director," Gibbs answered in a low voice.

"For what purpose?" demanded Morrow.

"Unclear. What concerns me is the explosive used," Gibbs said slowly. "Military. High grade. Extremely difficult to trace. Tough to get outside of certain circles."

Morrow leaned forward, staring at the scene on MTAC's big viewer. He turned back slightly.

"You're not suggesting another agency?" he asked.

"I'm not suggesting anything, sir," Gibbs said tensely. "All I know is I've pissed off a lot of people over the years."

Morrow seemed to hesitate heavily.

"I would ask you to keep your suspicions to yourself," he said tightly.

"Can I ask why, sir?"

"There may be other factors involved."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes, his pulse leaping suddenly. He thought of Jenny's phone call, the one that had been cut short that he now no longer had time to return. He pressed his knuckles into the arms of his MTAC seat and set his jaw.

"Like what, sir?"

"Currently, I'm not at liberty to discuss it," Morrow answered curtly, refusing to look Gibbs in the eye.

Gibbs swallowed a violently loud reaction and took a moment to calm down.

"I almost lost my entire team out there today," he said dangerously. "If there's something I should know—"

"This is not up for discussion, Agent Gibbs," Morrow said icily.

Gibbs nodded, but the nod was sarcastically.

"Yes, sir," he answered edgily, looking away.

"You're dismissed," Morrow said tightly, standing up.

"Sir," Gibbs said. Morrow looked unhappy but turned around anyway and looked at Gibbs warily. "Director," Gibbs said, easing some of the bitterness out of his tone. "Assistant Director Shepard called me. She told me to take my daughter out of school," he revealed mildly, watching Morrow's face. "Is that what I should do?"

Morrow narrowed his eyes.

"Shepard contacted you?" he demanded.

Gibbs nodded curtly.

"Did she say anything else?" he asked, with bewilderment and irritation in his eyes.

"She mentioned Ziva David," Gibbs growled pointedly, leaving another name hanging in the air.

Morrow said nothing.

"Your daughter is safe, Gibbs," he assured him finally. "Whatever this is, it is not about _Madeleine_ Gibbs."

Gibbs did not miss the poignant stress placed on her first name. His eyes narrowed, and he watched Morrow as he went stiffly down the stairs to the floor of MTAC. Gibbs stood, and made a mild salute as he left the assessment center.

"You have a good evening, sir," he wished brusquely.

As he left, he heard Morrow say to a tech in a low, blunt undertone:

"Get me the Director of the FBI."

* * *

><p>"Noemi," Madeleine said pleasantly, twirling a forkful of spaghetti around on her utensil.<p>

"Yes, _chiquita_?"

"When will Daddy be home?"

"Ah, he work late tonight, little Emmy," Noemi answered, pronouncing _Emmy_ with the long E that made Madeleine smile. "He say he be home to kiss you goodnight."

Madeleine nodded, kicking her legs under the table. She hummed to herself between bites. She'd had a good day at school, but she was bummed that she was at Noemi's house tonight instead of home. She knew Daddy kept telling her this was Mommy's house, but she never thought of it that way. She had never seen Mommy live here, _ever_.

"Oz is probably lonely," Madeleine said. "He doesn't like when I'm not there."

"He be okay," Noemi said kindly. "Dogs, they good at waiting."

Madeleine nodded. She ate another mouthful of spaghetti and then perked up.

"Noemi," she said again. Noemi thought it sweet that the child started every sentence to her with a polite calling of her name. "Tomorrow is my Tali's birthday."

Noemi sat down at the table and leaned forward, raising her eyebrows.

"How old?" she asked obediently.

Madeleine tilted her head.

"Tali stays the same," she said, unsure how old the girl had been. "She is the same age, Noemi. She got hurt in an accident, and she did not better." Madeleine tapped her necklace with a finger. "Ziva gave me this. Tali's."

"This Ziva and this Tali, they are your mama and papa's friends, from the Israel?" Noemi asked.

Madeleine beamed, and nodded.

"Do people have birthdays in heaven, Noemi? Do you think?"

"Hmm," Noemi pondered for a moment. "I think maybe heaven is always birthday," she said brightly. "Always happy, always smiles," she added. "But maybe, tomorrow, yes Tali celebrate her birthday."

"Lovely," Madeleine crooned, abandoning her pasta for a few long drinks of apple juice. She sighed and leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. She gasped suddenly and bolted upright, looking at Noemi with wide green eyes. "Noemi! But who will feed my Kate and Ziva fishies?!"

* * *

><p>McGee paced around the bullpen, hands in his pockets.<p>

"Why take someone's hand?" he asked, musing through the case.

DiNozzo yawned and picked at the food Gibbs had ordered him to eat.

"Trophies?" he offered.

"But why leave the other lieutenant's?" McGee went on, staring at Tony.

Kate hung up the phone call she'd been on.

"If he's chopping hands off, I don't think we can expect him to be rational, McGee," she sighed.

The elevator went off, and McGee arched his neck.

"We've got trouble," he said dully.

"What was your first hint?" Kate asked dryly.

"The two dead bodies downstairs or the explosion, McGee?" DiNozzo added.

Kate laughed, but McGee's next words silenced her.

"No, I mean FBI trouble," he said.

"Fornell," Kate said, standing abruptly.

"Must be in worse shape than we thought," DiNozzo said unhappily.

"Where's Gibbs?" Fornell demanded.

"He's not here."

"Where is he, Agent Todd?" demanded Fornell roughly.

"He's out," she said tensely. "Try him on his cell."

"I did. He's not answering."

"It was crushed," McGee spoke up. "In the explosion this morning," he clarified. "I'm getting him a new one set up."

"What's going on?" DiNozzo asked warily, looking at Fornell pointedly.

Fornell looked at them balefully, and then blinked slowly, a resigned look on his lined face.

"Ari Haswari is back in country," he revealed dejectedly.

The reactions were immediate; DiNozzo bolted forward, McGee stood straighter, and Kate nearly leapt across her desk.

"You let that psycho back in the States without telling us?" she raged.

"He was supposed to be helping us uncover an Al-Qaeda cell in the D.C. area," Fornell said.

"What do you mean, supposed to, Fornell?" DiNozzo growled.

"We now think he's here for more personal reasons," Fornell retorted gruffly.

DiNozzo stood up violently.

"Personal?" he asked roughly. "Personal—" he broke off and turned frantically to McGee, and then Kate. "Madeleine," he said loudly. "We've got to bring Madeleine to NCIS."

They were staring at him dumbly, and he slammed his fist down.

"NOW," he roared, channeling Gibbs.

"Tony—" began Kate.

"DiNozzo, the bastard isn't after Madeleine, he's here to kill Gibbs!" Fornell barked, the truth to Ari's presence in the States chilling the room instantly.

DiNozzo turned on Fornell fiercely.

"He'll use Madeleine to get him, Tobias," he said vehemently. "He'll use her as bait," he growled, and turned and grabbed his gear purposefully. "McGee," he barked, snapping his fingers. "Come with me, we're going to get her. Kate," Tony looked at her warily. "You stay here. Ari's got the hots for you, too."

DiNozzo knew Madeleine was at Noemi Cruz's house; he'd dropped something off for Gibbs there once before. He could get there in about ten minutes, and he was going to make sure Madeleine was safe and secure at NCIS by the time Gibbs got back from his coffee run.

* * *

><p>Contrary to what he'd told Noemi, Gibbs did not make it home by nine o'clock to kiss Madeleine goodnight. Instead he found himself trudging out of a late-night coffee shop with his sixth cup of coffee, desperately trying to sort out the pieces of this infuriating puzzle.<p>

He walked out of the coffee shop and something caught his eye—a movement, or rather, an unnatural stillness. He turned, and sitting there at one of the dainty little patio tables, a yellow motorcycle helmet next to him and a newspaper held loosely in his arms, was Ari Haswari.

And suddenly, he pieced together what Jenny had been trying to say.

_Ziva's telling me that Haswari is in the country._

* * *

><p>Noemi was frightened, but DiNozzo didn't have time to worry about her—though he was sorry he was scaring her so much. He had McGee clear the house and the yard while he went upstairs to gather the little girl.<p>

She woke up when he started to lift her from the bed and twisted away, startled.

"Daddy!" she cried, confused.

"No, no, it's me," he said. "It's Pony." He turned on a lamp and smiled at her, encouraging her. She blinked at him sleepily and rubbed her eyes, rolling back towards him.

"Pony?" she said softly.

"Pony," he repeated, reaching for her again. This time, he waited for her to take his hands and when she did, lifted her up and held her against his chest. She rested her chin on his shoulder, lips trembling, eyes moving confusedly around the room.

"Pony," she whimpered. "Where's Daddy? Why is Daddy not here?"

"He's at work," Tony answered. "Timmy and I are taking you to NCIS, okay?"

"Not okay," Madeleine mumbled. "Not okay, it's late. I have to go to school in the morning. Put me back."

"I can't, kid," DiNozzo said apologetically. "Is there a stuffed animal I should grab?" he asked.

She only mumbled sleepily and seemed to fall back into a slumber on his shoulder. He didn't have time to waste looking. He left the lamp on and dashed down the stairs with her, meeting McGee and Noemi at the foot of them by the front door.

"Clear," McGee whispered. "Is she okay?"

"No," Madeleine mumbled. "Pony kidnapped me from my bed. Help," she said pitifully.

In spite of the situation, McGee laughed. He pulled out their badges and showed Noemi, but she clasped her hands and made the sign of the cross.

"I know you, I know Senor Gibbs say you protect Madeleine," she said earnestly. "Tell me please, what happens?"

"It's okay, ma'am," DiNozzo said. "We just think Madeleine will be safer at the Navy Yard right now."

Noemi nodded, and DiNozzo gave her another apology in a murmur and nodded for McGee to cover him as they walked back out to the car. They had no way of knowing where Ari Haswari was or what he was doing—or if Gibbs even knew what was going on yet—but DiNozzo wasn't going to take any chances. He rapidly opened the backdoor of the car and indicated McGee should get in.

"I don't have a seat, McGee," he hissed. "Buckle her in with you. On your lap, got it?"

"Is that safe?" McGee asked warily.

"It'll do," growled Tony.

McGee got in, and Tony handed off Madeleine in the cloak of the dark evening. She whined at them, unhappy and confused, and a moment later Tony was in the driver's seat backing out, driving simultaneously as quickly and as carefully as he could.

It was peaceful for a few seconds before Madeleine _really_ woke up.

"Daddy?" she asked, and then looked around her, and burst into a sob. "You didn't get my rabbit!" she wailed, tears starting down her cheeks.

"You'll have to snuggle Tim, Maddie," DiNozzo said desperately. "He's soft!"

* * *

><p>Amidst a smattering of people on the patio, Gibbs sat down opposite Ari Haswari and waited in silence.<p>

The man fixed his tea with maddening serenity, stirring sugar in carefully.

"Washington is such a lovely city this time of year. Don't you agree, Special Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs said nothing.

Ari raised his mug.

"Not much of a conversationalist, are we?" he asked mildly, taking a sip of the steaming liquid.

"I am mostly waiting here, Ari," Gibbs drawled finally, surveying the area closely, taking great care to flippantly refuse to look at Ari.

"Oh! For what?" Ari feigned curiosity.

"A reason to shoot you again," Gibbs said curtly. "Someone tried to kill my team today. I'm thinking it was you," he accused coolly.

"You wound me, Gibbs," Ari returned, his voice emotionless. "If it was me, they would be dead already."

Gibbs leaned forward.

"You're still coming in with me for questioning."

Ari smirked.

"Unfortunately I've made other arrangements for the evening," he sighed flippantly. "My control officer, you see. Unyielding in her orders as to where I report. I believe you know her."

Gibbs ignored the reference to Ziva.

"It wasn't a request," he growled.

"I know," Ari said simply, leaning forward and resting his arm on the table. "That is why I took the precaution of planting an explosive device under one of these tables," he revealed casually. He waved at a child, perhaps Madeleine's age, seated just behind Gibbs' shoulder. "Be a good NCIS agent, and I may even tell you where."

Unspeakable fury coursed through Gibbs, as he thought of the little girl sitting at a table behind him—and his little girl, asleep in her mother's house not far from where they were.

"What are you doing here?" he asked tightly.

"An Al-Qaeda cell is planning an attack in Washington. I am here to stop it."

"Yeah? What's the target?" Gibbs asked, unconvinced.

"I don't know."

"Where's the cell located?"

"Wish I knew." Ari did not look at him.

"Doin' a hell of a job, for a Mossad double agent," Gibbs pointed out sarcastically.

"I can however gain access to that information," Ari went on, "but, it comes at a price. One you may not be willing to pay."

"Try me."

"Al-Qaeda sent me here to conduct my own mission. It's a test," he said smoothly, with too much glee in his dark, hollow eyes. "I pass, and I am allowed into the Washington cell," he paused and lifted his tea mug again. "They want me to kill you."

Gibbs gave him nothing in return.

"You don't seem surprised."

"It means I'm doin' my job," he retorted harshly, refusing to show that his first thoughts were about Madeleine and the danger she was in if this is what Ari was truly here to do.

"Yes," Ari agreed, "and in order for me to do mine, you have to die. I wonder," he mused, "what would you do in my position?"

"Kill myself," Gibbs answered bluntly, eyes on Ari's.

Ari chuckled.

"Sadly, not an option," he drawled. "It's the one part of my religion I subscribe to."

"I could help you out with that," Gibbs said.

"A kind offer, to be sure," retorted Ari. "I also have one for you."

"I'm listening," Gibbs said coldly.

"You have twenty-four hours to find and eliminate the cell," Ari told him. "If you fail," he let the threat hang.

"I appreciate the heads up," Gibbs answered.

"It's the least I could do," Ari said gallantly, standing. He began sliding on his leather gloves. "How is Madeleine, by the way? Does she still wear my sister's emblem around her fragile little neck?"

Gibbs did not miss the threat laced into Ari's words, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to leap up and snap the man in half.

"Go near her," he said in a calm, dead voice, "and I don't care what government agency is watching your back. I will kill you this time."

A smile graced Ari's lips. His eyes fell to the collar of Gibbs' shirt, and for a moment he was staring intently at the dog tags Gibbs now wore constantly there—the ones that read _Kelly_ and _Daddy_, that had belonged to his daughter before she died.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he said charmingly—and then tilted his head, seeking one last threat to leave at the table. "Ah, then perhaps," he mused slowly. "I will keep that delicate Caitlyn in my crosshairs."

Ari swept his motorcycle helmet off the table, and Gibbs kept his eyes on him until he had almost left.

"Where's the device?" Gibbs asked quietly.

"Oh," Ari answered, nonchalant. "I almost forgot: I lied. There is none," he said, and mounted his bike.

Gibbs didn't believe him for a second.

* * *

><p>"Please call me back," DiNozzo snapped into the phone, leaving yet another message on Gibbs' answering machine.<p>

He was frustrated and exhausted; Madeleine was sitting in his lap clinging to him in a way that was both heartbreaking and annoying. She was whimpering tiredly and had been crying for Gibbs since they brought her in and he wasn't here.

"That's twenty messages I've left," DiNozzo growled. "We should look for him, McGee."

"Look for who?" Gibbs asked, storming into the bullpen so fast he didn't even notice Madeleine.

"We've been calling you for the last hour, Boss!" DiNozzo said, standing up. Madeleine whipped around in his grip.

"ABA!" she screamed hoarsely, drawing silence all over the place. He nearly knocked DiNozzo to the ground, barreling around his desk to get to her. With relief written all over him, he reached out to take her from his senior agent, and her crying ceased immediately when she was in his arms.

"She won't stop crying," DiNozzo said bitterly.

"It isn't her fault," Gibbs growled dangerously. He stroked Madeleine's hair, questions coming to his mouth.

"Where have you been?" DiNozzo demanded. "You're never gonna believe who's back in town."

"Ari," barked Gibbs.

"Okay, maybe you will."

"Fornell said that he's, uh, here to—"

"Kill me?" said Gibbs bluntly, still trying to soothe Madeleine. "Yeah, I know. I just had coffee with him."

DiNozzo stared at him.

"So," he began uncertainly. "…what happened?"

Gibbs sat down in his chair and shifted Madeleine in his lap, looking at her for a moment before he looked up.

"He tried to kill me," he answered tensely, keeping his voice low.

McGee and DiNozzo looked at each other. DiNozzo pointed at Madeleine.

"We went and picked her up when Fornell told us," he said quietly. "We scared the nanny. Housekeeper. Whatever. She's cryin' cause I didn't get some—bunny?—for her. And she heard someone mention Ari Haswari, so she started cryin' in Hebrew."

Gibbs nodded. He stood up with Madeleine and eyed McGee and DiNozzo. He pointed to her head and gave them both an appreciative look.

"Good work," he complimented sincerely. "Any idea what Westfall was doing in Aberdeen, yet?" he demanded.

"Uh, Boss," McGee broke in. "Aren't you gonna elaborate a little, on the murder thing?"

"Yeah, McGee, I'm alive!" barked Gibbs. "Now tell me about Westfall!"

"Uh, well, he was only attached to Aberdeen, he was actually working with an aerospace contractor in Maryland in avionics."

"Doing what?"

"Testing fields service modules or somethin' like that? I have no idea," DiNozzo muttered. "The FBI sent a team over to the company to investigate their security."

"The FBI?" asked Gibbs skeptically.

"A lot's happened in the last half hour, Boss," DiNozzo pointed out.

"Where's Fornell?" Gibbs demanded.

"MTAC."

Gibbs lunged forward. He pointed at McGee.

"Get me a new cell phone," he ordered, hitching Madeleine up on his hip.

He gripped her tightly and took her with him to MTAC—and he didn't give a damn if that broke about fifteen different protocols.

* * *

><p>"How long did you know that bastard was here?" Gibbs demanded, the moment he saw Fornell coming out of MTAC.<p>

Fornell's eyes fell on Madeleine, and Gibbs grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to pay attention.

"We had our reasons, Gibbs," Fornell said.

Gibbs shoved his friend away.

"I have my reasons," he shouted back, pointing at Madeleine. "What if it was your kid, Tobias? Your kid he'd kidnapped?" He didn't wait for Fornell to answer. "How long?" he demanded again.

"About a week," Fornell conceded. "We didn't know what his cover mission was with Al-Qaeda, until today."

"I'm taking him out," Gibbs promised icily.

"Not this time," Fornell said. "The FBI can handle this."

Gibbs glared at him, his chin lingering over Madeleine's head. He couldn't very well get violent with her in his arms, already scared, and he didn't want to start cursing or shouting, either.

"The civilians in the coffee shop that he tried to blow up today would probably disagree with you, Tobias."

"Look, if it was up to me, I'd put a round through his forehead. It's not! You're sitting this one out," Fornell ordered.

Gibbs moved closer.

"You gonna try to stop me?" he asked.

"No," said Fornell pointedly. "No, not me, Jethro."

He cut his eyes towards MTAC, and Gibbs turned, hell-bent on barging in and ripping Morrow a new one. Fornell grabbed his arms and nodded at Madeleine.

"You want me to take her?" he asked. "I'll put her with Diane, six armed agents on guard," he offered.

Gibbs shook his head narrowly, tightening his grip.

"Don't put your family in danger, Tobias," he warned. "She doesn't leave this building."

* * *

><p>Morrow wouldn't budge on the issue. He stood next to Gibbs, he stood looking at Madeleine as she buried her face in her father's shoulder and tried to sleep and make her scary night disappear, and he wouldn't give in.<p>

"Ari has been declared off limits," he said. "NCIS will have no further involvement in the case."

"You're kidding, sir," Gibbs growled.

"I've also been ordered to place you under protective custody," he added, turning and pacing to the middle of MTAC. "For your own safety."

"Meaning for Ari's?" Gibbs followed him across the floor—by now, the other occupants of the room were staring, startled and fascinated by the sight of Madeleine.

"For hers," Morrow said, nodding at the child. "Take it for what it is. A direct order, Agent Gibbs. You damn well better follow it to the letter."

"Yes, sir," Gibbs patronized. "I'd also like to take this opportunity to offer you my resignation, sir."

"And I will accept it," Morrow said, without missing a beat. "After you've completed your current case," he clarified pointedly.

"Sir?" Gibbs demanded.

"Daddy, I want to go home," Madeleine lifted her head and covered her ears, wincing at the sound of gunfire on the MTAC screen. "It's loud in here, make it stop."

Morrow spoke over her.

"Have you found any evidence connecting Ari to the murder of our two naval officers?" he asked.

"No, we haven't," Gibbs answered, "sir," he added slowly, beginning to see where Morro was going.

Morrow gave the ghost of a smirk.

"I will now hand you over to our federally certified protective custody expert, Agent Todd," he announced, as Kate came out of the shadows. "I hear she used to protect the president. You should be flattered." Morrow turned to Kate. "He's all yours."

Kate reached out and put a hand on Madeleine's back, stroking her soothingly. Madeleine turned to look at her and then went willingly into her arms. Gibbs stood there, stunned, taken aback, and feeling helpless.

"I expect you to follow her orders to the letter, as if they were mine," Morrow instructed.

Madeleine smiled up at Kate, and Kate looked at Gibbs seriously.

"That last part—he meant it."

* * *

><p>"In his home, two teams, six hour shifts, alternating radio checks every ten minutes," Kate was instructing. "Outside I want a mobile, foot patrol, and two permanent observation posts. I want an agent sleeping in Madeleine's room, and one awake right outside her door—"<p>

"Gibbs isn't gonna like this," DiNozzo broke in, disbelief written on his face.

"Screw what he likes, Tony, I'm not gonna let that psycho within five miles of Gibbs or Madeleine," she growled. "McGee, I need full video-audio surveillance inside and out, everything tied back to MTAC."

"You got it, Kate."

"Go home," Gibbs ordered, interrupting. "It's late."

"Gibbs, I don't think we're going to be going home," Kate said tartly.

"I'm staying here," Gibbs said, taking a shirt out of his filing cabinet with one hand and handing it to Madeleine, who was standing by his knee. She slipped her hand out of his and took it, wrapping it around her shoulders. He led her to his desk and crouched down, showing her she could lie down. "I do not need an army of agents staying up all night watching me build a boat," Gibbs groused.

He rubbed his jaw and stood.

"Kate, you take me to my house to get things for Madeleine to stay here for a few days," he amended gruffly. "DiNozzo," he pointed to his chair. "You sit here and you watch her until I get back. McGee," he added, pointing to a spot next to DiNozzo. "McGee, you watch, too."

They both nodded and scrambled over to do his bidding. Gibbs went to Kate.

"When I get back, you all go home; get some sleep."

DiNozzo scoffed at him.

"Yeah. Good one, Gibbs."

* * *

><p>Gibbs didn't waste time storming through his house to get necessary things for Madeleine. He grabbed anything that he thought might comfort her—anything at all—and crammed it all into his old military duffle bag. He didn't bother with things for himself; he could wear the same clothes for days without noticing. He'd done it before, and he'd do it again.<p>

He was using a distinct amount of skill to remain focused and in control of his emotions; it was harrowing to lead a team and be a father when, in the midst of this, he wanted to shut himself in the basement with Madeleine until someone else had gotten rid of anything that would scare her or possibly take her away from him.

On top of the threats here, he still hadn't gotten in touch with Jenny, and he'd heard nothing from Abby concerning the matter—she had gone home hours ago, it seemed, without any luck, and he had no idea what hat meant. Had Jen known what Ari was up to? Had she been trying to warn him that the cover story was just a farce, that Ari really was here to murder him in cold blood? She'd obviously thought something was very wrong—because she'd asked him to get Madeleine from school, she'd thought Ari was after Madeleine—

Kate was rushing him, and he was just about to leave Madeleine's room and flip of the light when he remembered that he should feed the fish—Madeleine had sweetly, and tearfully, asked him to feed her Kate and Ziva fishies before he came back.

He slung the duffle over his shoulder and went over to her bureau, picking up the fish food.

He peered at the bowl, and his stomach felt hollow suddenly. He set the fish food down and clenched his jaw.

One of the fish, the smaller one whom Madeleine insisted was Fish Kate, was dead.

* * *

><p>The bullpen was silent and dark, and all were asleep save Gibbs. He prowled around in the quiet that blanketed the building, too restless to shut his eyes even for a moment. Madeleine had been difficult. She didn't understand what was going on and she was upset; she cried and asked for her mother, then cried and asked to go home, then sat quiet and sullen, then demanded Gibbs fetch Oz for her.<p>

She hadn't wanted to go back to sleep, but he'd finally, finally gotten her to close her eyes and now she was snuggled up with three stuffed animals, four blankets, and his spare shirt in a nook behind his desk. DiNozzo was on the floor near her, his gun holstered safely and within easy reach on his hip.

He walked around and he looked at them all—McGee, sitting upright and asleep in his chair, DiNozzo on the floor with Maddie, and Kate, uncomfortably trying to curl under her coat on the floor. Gibbs knelt down and covered her up, running his hands over her stiff shoulders gently so as not to wake her.

He stood, and snatched a piece of cold pizza off DiNozzo's abandoned desk, thinking about what these three people were willing to do for the safety of his daughter. He stood at the window overlooking the Navy Yard, and bit into the pizza, watching the sunrise.

* * *

><p>"<em>Gibbs<em>!"

Kate woke up from the violent nightmare with a shout, trying to shake the image of a bloodied Gibbs out of her head. She scrambled up, spinning around helplessly, blinking and swallowing hard.

He wasn't here.

"Oh, god!"

DiNozzo sprang away from her, looking wary. He arched an eyebrow.

"You dream about Gibbs?" he asked.

"What?" she demanded. "No, god no."

"You just said his name."

"No, I didn't!"

"Yes, you did," teased Tony smugly.

"What's going on?" McGee asked, walking in with tall cups of coffee.

"Kate dreams about Gibbs," Tony said.

"Oh. What was it about?" he asked.

"No, No," Kate said, as Gibbs walked in holding Madeleine by the hand. She had a toothbrush in her hand and was skipping to keep up with him.

"But I wanna go to school," she was saying.

"No." His answer was curt, and she pouted.

"I don't dream about Gibbs," Kate muttered.

"She screamed his name," Tony said logically.

McGee smirked.

"Really?" he drawled wickedly.

She shoved past them and walked over to Gibbs.

"Look, if you want to check out the defense contracting company with us today, you're wearing a vest," she said.

He took it.

"I can live with that," he agreed.

"That's the point," Kate muttered, crouching down to see Madeleine. "What are you doing today, sweetie?" she asked.

Madeleine pointed her toothbrush at Kate.

"Staying put," she retorted. "I must be with Abby or Ducky at all time," she retorted. "If they cannot take me, I get to sit with Mr. Morrow," she added.

Kate raised her brows, impressed.

"She'll be okay, Gibbs," Kate said to him.

He was busy putting on his vest, a strained look on his face. She had never seen him look quite so stressed, but it was all showing in the lines around his mouth and forehead today. Kate gave him a weary look and stepped back while the team geared up.

"Let me get her settled," Gibbs muttered, pulling a shirt over his vest and taking Madeleine by the hand again. As he passed Kate's desk, he picked up the Rubik's cube that had remained there since DiNozzo had solved it proudly.

He handed it to Madeleine to amuse herself with.

* * *

><p>They learned that Westfall had been testing unmanned aerial vehicles that were to be weaponized in the future. According to the director of the contracting company, the vehicles were simply prototypes, not at all ready for use, and it was impossible for Westfall's I.D. to have been used to steal them.<p>

The one vehicle was clearly visible and in the hanger; not stolen. But Gibbs was interested in the old missiles that were kept in the back—the missiles that were short a pair. The director of the contracting company became nervous when Gibbs pointed out the missing spot.

"That's impossible," he insisted. "You need a team of engineers to get one of those fossils up and running! Not to mention you need a radio flight control," he added desperately.

"I'll bet Lieutenant Westfall's is missing," Gibbs said, reminding the director that he had just told them earlier that the access codes for those were unlocked using fingerprint technology, and lieutenant Westfall's hands were missing.

* * *

><p>"According to these schematics, the drone's pretty archaic," Abby said.<p>

"So's a hand grenade," Gibbs growled.

"Excellent point," Abby conceded, as Madeleine skipped across the lab on a hopscotch board Abby had let her draw with crime scene chalk. "The missile is a jet—propelled RC plane, basically. Meaning it's manually controlled by a radio transmitter."

"The transmitter they stole was from a modern unmanned aerial vehicle," Kate said, confused. "They might not be able to fly it."

"True, true," Abby agreed. "But the codes are based on the original software, so if you just tweak—"

"What's the range?" Gibbs interrupted.

"Forty miles," Abby answered automatically. "Unless they load it down with explosives."

Gibbs went over to watch Madeleine play, and took her hands when she hopscotched up to him and dramatically curtseyed. She giggled and hugged his legs."Oh, they will," he muttered at Abby, looking at his daughter.

"It has to be twenty-five pounds or less, if they want to get it off the ground," Abby warned. "That's not a lot of bang for your buck."

Gibbs crouched and kissed Madeleine's forehead, sending her hopping again.

"It is if you're going after soft targets," he said quietly, stepping up to Abby.

"Soft target?" she asked.

"People," Kate clarified.

"Oh," Abby murmured softly.

"Can we stop it if it's launched?" Gibbs asked.

"It wouldn't be hard to de-stabilize," Abby said. "I have the frequencies, so another controller could probably jam it," she explained.

"Get me another controller," Gibbs demanded.

"Gibbs, there's a catch!" she called, getting him before he stormed out. "You'd have to be within a forty mile radius to jam it," she explained.

Gibbs looked at her a moment and then she tilted her head, her face lighting up.

"I got in touch with her," she said suddenly. "I reached—well, not her, but someone who could help…I tracked her cell signal, and then I called the location—I talked to an Agent Decker," Abby said.

Gibbs looked floored.

"Deck—" he started, and then shook his head. "Wait—_what_?"

"She called you when she was about to get on a flight," Abby explained. "That's why she didn't answer later. She's here," Abby said earnestly, obviously refraining from using Jenny's name so Madeleine wouldn't freak out.

Gibbs looked startled.

"Yeah, Decker's location is L.A.," he began.

"_No_," Abby said vehemently, looking just as uncertain. She gestured wildly. "She's _here_, she's in D.C."

"_What_?" Gibbs barked—only to be interrupted by someone yelling for him down the hall.

He stormed off, his movements jerky, and Abby turned to Kate, taking her hand.

"Kate, I had a weird dream last night, about Tony—"

"Ew, not that one where you're at the zoo and he-?"

"No, in this one he was fully clothed," Abby said earnestly. "He had—blood all over his face and—I woke up crying Kate, I never cry," she said.

"Hey, hey," Kate said softly, squeezing her shoulder. "It was just bête noire," she soothed.

Madeleine skipped up to Kate.

"Kate," she said, looking up with her wide green eyes.

Kate smiled at her, but Madeleine looked worried.

"Don't let Daddy get hurt," Madeleine pleaded.

Kate smiled encouragingly and bent down to hug the little girl.

"Not on my life, sweetie."

* * *

><p>He was running the cell—that's what the video footage told them, what it revealed, the truth Gibbs had always known—Ari Haswari wasn't infiltrating anyone; he was leading them to their targets.<p>

In MTAC, Gibbs fumed, and they gathered.

"My second biggest mistake, Jethro?" Fornell groused, barging in. "What was the first, may I ask?"

"Marrying my second wife," Gibbs growled.

Fornell laughed.

"Eat your heart out," he teased, turning to the MTAC viewing screen.

"Where's Ari?" demanded Gibbs.

"What part of _sit this out_ don't you get?"

"The part where he steals a Navy missile and kills a whole bunch of people with it!"

"My people checked it out, nothing was missing from that contractor's place," Fornell said calmly.

"He stole a target drone, Fornell!" Gibbs snapped, showing him on the screen. "He packed the nose of it with explosive; poor man's cruise missile."

"Your boys missed it," DiNozzo said.

"Ari's playing you," Gibbs growled. "He's no double agent, he never has been! Where is he?"

Fornell's face fell; Gibbs could see the realization dawn in his eyes heavily.

"All we've got is an encrypted spook cell phone number," he said grudgingly.

"Call him," ordered Gibbs.

"You can't trace it from here, Gibbs," protested Fornell. "You need a high level NSA intercept—"

"Patch us through," Gibbs ordered. He showed Fornell he had that capability, and with nothing else to use as ammunition, Fornell gave it up.

The phone rang, and on the third ring, Ari Haswari answered.

"Special Agent Gibbs. Now how did you get this number?"

"I pulled some strings."

"Yes, your friend Fornell. I imagine he's there with you."

"Nope," Gibbs lied smoothly. "Nope, I've been thrown off the case."

"It's for the best," Ari sighed dramatically. "I really was not looking forward to killing you."

"I wish I could say the same thing, Ari," Gibbs answered bitingly.

He prowled around, making sure they got a location on the bastard.

"I resigned from NCIS," Gibbs lied again.

"I hope it wasn't something I said." Ari feigned concern beautifully.

"Next time we meet, Ari," Gibbs threatened. "Will be the last time. There won't be anybody to stop me."

The screen flashed red, and Gibbs received a thumb-up—they had him.

"Gibbs, I'm honored," Ari said. "I had no idea you—"

But Gibbs ended the call abruptly, and didn't hear—or care to hear—what Ari would have said.

"Newport News," the techs said, revealing the location.

Gibbs turned to his team.

"Let's get 'im."

* * *

><p>There was a ship full of military men returning from the gulf today—docking in Norfolk where their families would be waiting. The families, DiNozzo figured out in the car, were Al-Qaeda's targets; they wanted the blood of the American people splattered on the evening news before the eyes of their heroic loved ones. They intended to ruin the homecoming.<p>

Gibbs broke every speed limit law known to man as he sped down the interstate to reach Norfolk, hoping beyond hope that they got there in time—that they could prevent the attack and take out Ari.

Abby had instructed McGee on how to block the drone. Backup was following them at a pace that was far too slow for Gibbs, and so he only had DiNozzo and Kate to back him up while they gave McGee the cover he needed to intercept the missile.

Gibbs looked at the clock on the dashboard.

He hit the gas pedal harder.

* * *

><p>In the halls of the state department, the sharp sound of heels clicking against the immaculate floor echoed loudly as Jenny Shepard ran to the conference room she'd requested. Several people stared at her, but she ignored them—if she didn't take the Mossad paging immediately, she didn't know what would happen, and the national security advisor's office, where she'd been meeting earlier, was halfway across the building.<p>

She could hardly believe she was dashing through a building in D.C., a mere twenty-four hours away from officially taking the reigns of Director of NCIS, when barely sixteen days ago she'd been on a beach with her daughter and all of this had been a mere murmur of possibility.

She hadn't had time to talk to Jethro, she hadn't had time to prepare—she barely had anything here but the clothes on her back and she was staying in a hotel while she sorted things—and dammit, she was already dealing with possibly the biggest international incident since September Eleventh had gone down.

"Shepard," someone greeted her as she charged into the room.

Eli David's pale face was on the screen before her, and she wasted no time.

"Where is she?" Jenny bellowed. "Where is Ziva?"

"I cannot make time go faster, Agent Shepard!" David howled right back, anger flashing in his eyes. "She will be there to assist you in hours!"

Jenny slammed her fist into a table in the room, displaying a force of anger that startled the people who didn't know the slim, lithe redhead from Egypt.

"I don't have hours, Eli, he's going to kill him!"

"Your government has assured me Gibbs will not shoot—"

"I don't give a _fuck_ if Jethro shoots Haswari!" barked Jenny violently. "Haswari is going to shoot Gibbs, and you damn well know it—he'll do anything to keep that godforsaken cover—"

"He has no choice!"

"It isn't his cover anymore, Eli!" Jenny snarled. "It's his life, and you know it! He is living this. He is rotten to the core," her eyes flashed, "and if her harms a hair on the head of any NCIS agent I will _eviscerate_ him!"

* * *

><p>The gunfire was rapid, ubiquitous, and ear splitting.<p>

Desperate, McGee hunkered by the federal car as he worked to disarm the missile, furiously blocking out the sounds of the firefight. A bullet flew right past his ear and he lost his breath as he ducked out of the way, scrambling again to get back to the computer so he could end this.

In the gutted out old building, Gibbs bore down on the terrorist he chased with a vengeance, chasing him until he took him out.

"They fired the drone!" McGee screamed through the headsets.

"Jam it, McGee," growled Gibbs, immersed in the firefight. "Jam it!"

"One down, Boss," DiNozzo hissed, eyeing the rooftop. "No visual on anyone else."

"Let's do it," ordered Gibbs.

He and Kate burst onto the roof, guns out, clearing the area in front of them. Bullets erupted immediately, and Gibbs threw himself behind a railing, swearing at the strain on his knees and his back. DiNozzo fired a kill shot at the owner of a machine gun, and Gibbs followed it up with a volley of his own shots.

They emerged from their cover spots and charged the last remaining man on the roof—the one manning the missile—and took him out. Gibbs approached, his heart racing, bile rising in his throat, and looked frantically at the controls.

"McGee!" he roared. "This thing is still flying!"

"I've almost—" McGee started, but he broke off with a curse, and gunfire erupted through the headsets. Tony whirled with a panicked look, but he had nowhere to go—no way to back up McGee.

They heard McGee fighting back and then he shouted:

"Boss, they shot my transmitter!"

"You know how to fly this thing?" DiNozzo asked Gibbs, inching closer.

"No," he said gruffly. "I know how to crash it."

He shot out the control board, and he heard a deafening splash and a roar as the missile crashed into the Atlantic.

"You okay, McGee?" he asked.

"Terrorist in the building," McGee reported. "I don't know if I got him, but he stopped shooting."

"Hold your position," Gibbs answered, adrenaline still surging through him nauseatingly. "We'll flush 'im out."

Firefights bothered him more than they used to, he had people to live for now, he had a child to go home to—

"I'm out," Gibbs said, shaking his gun violently.

"Me too," Kate cracked open her shotgun.

DiNozzo chucked Gibbs a magazine.

"SHOOTER!" Kate screamed, and Gibbs turned in a split second in time to see her dive past him, and a gunshot rang out that knocked her to the ground.

He didn't spare a moment to look—DiNozzo had already abandoned his training and run to Kate—he fired rapidly at the man in the doorway until he was dead with six bullets in the chest, bleeding out onto the rooftop.

"Kate," DiNozzo shouted, reaching her first.

The Rubik's cube and the fish flashed before his eyes.

Gibbs ran over, dropping to his knees. They both fumbled her onto her back and yanked her jacket unzipped. Buried in her bulletproof vest was a squashed bronze bullet, and DiNozzo grinned. Gibbs sighed heavily, looking away from what could have been a gruesome sight.

"You okay?" DiNozzo asked.

Gibbs reached out and touched Kate's hair, pushing it back tenderly.

"Ow," she moaned. "I just got shot at point blank range, DiNozzo," she muttered. "What do you think?"

"You're not gonna be going to Pilates class tomorrow?" he joked.

"Oh," she moaned.

They helped her up gingerly, and Gibbs stepped closer, holding her arm delicately.

"Protection detail's over, Kate," he said gently.

"You did good," said DiNozzo.

"For once," Gibbs said wryly. "DiNozzo's right."

Kate laughed, throwing her head back.

"Wow," she drawled smugly. "I thought I'd die before I heard a com—"

The gunshot that shattered the air drowned out her last words. DiNozzo flinched violently; Gibbs didn't move. He turned his head, his eyes following the blur of movement that flashed before his eyes, and then there was a sickening thud as her body hit the cold, dirty concrete beneath their feet.

DiNozzo turned his head. Gibbs looked at the bright red blood sprayed all over his face and grabbed his gun, training it in the direction of the gunshot. His vision was crystal clear, sniper's eyes seeking the culprit he already knew, with DiNozzo standing dumbly behind him, and Kate Todd laying dead at his feet.

Dead, with a bullet between her eyes.

Dead, and this wasn't a nightmare.

Behind him, DiNozzo made a strangled noise, shocking even himself, breaking the silence with a hoarse sob.

Gibbs knuckles were white on his gun.

_Madeleine_, he thought painfully.

He hissed into the air:

"_Ari_."

* * *

><p><strong><em>End: November, 2005<em>**

_O__ne again, note that anything you recognize is a direct quote/plot taken from either "SWAK" or "Twilight". Though some of the heavy (cruel!) foreshadowing is mine, NCIS did an almost superfluous foreshadowing of Kate's death throughout that actual episode. She mentioned dying like eight times. It was insanely creepy. My favorite scenes in this chapter were the Mossad related ones._

_-alexandra  
>feedback appreciated! <em>


	15. Chamesh-esreh

_A/N: Well, here it is: the final chapter. I think I've now written the "Kill Ari" episodes into-three?-of my stories, but this time was by far the trickiest challenge I had of it. There was so much to essentially "tweak", as you'll obviously see. What I've tried to do in most of it is fill in the gaps and address what we didn't get to see, such as the moments immediately after Kate was shot, after the funeral, etc. I've taken liberties with the plot but as usual, any recognizable lines are not mine, they're directly taken from the episode. I recommend you watch it again! _

_Can I also point out it's only been like 22 days since I last updated? Booyah. _

* * *

><p><em><strong>Fifteen<strong>_

_**November 2005**_

There was nothing that could be done until the rooftop was cleared.

Gibbs stood tensely for a moment, squinting around, and then swiveled, acutely aware it was futile. He had been a sniper; he knew it was impossible to ferret out a sniper's hidden nest with only an unaided human eye, and he and DiNozzo were sitting ducks as long as they remained in open air.

He crouched down and grabbed DiNozzo's shirt at the collar.

DiNozzo jerked away. He was still checking for a pulse. It was paralyzing to watch him press his fingers again and again to Kate's neck, harder each time, as if trying to force her pulse back to life. His forehead wrinkled and he swore, his jaw tight and his face screwed up.

"DiNozzo," growled Gibbs, taking his shirt again.

DiNozzo tried to shake him off, but Gibbs held firm.

"Let go," DiNozzo snapped.

"We've gotta clear the roof first," Gibbs said, pointing towards the open door that led to the building below. He gripped the younger agent's shoulder firmly, steeling himself to be cruel, and yanked him towards the door, trying to stay as low to the ground as possible.

DiNozzo stumbled, falling to his knees as Gibbs pulled on him, scraping his palms.

"No!" he barked, planting his hands on the rooftop. "No, Gibbs, we can't leave her here!"

Gibbs turned around and put his hand on the back of DiNozzo's head, glaring at him firmly.

"Tony," he barked in a low voice. "She's gone."

"No, Boss."

"He can't hurt her anymore," Gibbs growled.

DiNozzo brought a hand up to his face. He made a strangled noise in his throat, and then he nodded and got to his feet, mimicking Gibbs' slouching position as they headed for the door and took cover just inside. DiNozzo slid down to the top step, dropping his head into his hands. He drew his knees up and remained still. Gibbs pressed his back against the wall opposite them, eyes on the roof, glued to Kate's prostrate, still body.

"McGee," he grunted into his wrist, activating the link.

The connection sparked with static and buzzed in his ear. McGee answered, struggled with the connection, and then cleared the channel.

"Boss?" he asked hesitantly. "Boss, you intercept the missile?" He sounded out of breath and uncertain. He hadn't heard an explosion, and the gunfire had long been silent, but he hadn't moved from his hunched position by the car.

"It's neutralized," Gibbs said in a hollow voice.

"I'm coming up," McGee said.

"Hold your position," Gibbs ordered sharply. "Don't move."

Static crackled.

"Boss?" he inquired worriedly.

"Kate's dead," DiNozzo said, his voice muffled. He lifted his head and knocked it back against the wall, his wrist almost in his mouth as he spoke to McGee. "Kate's dead, Probie. There's a sniper loose."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes at DiNozzo harshly and said nothing. The static crackled again; McGee was silent for a very long time.

"Kate?" McGee said. "Kate-?"

"Dead, McGee, dead!" shouted DiNozzo. "Ari shot her!"

"DiNozzo," growled Gibbs coolly.

He gave him a look, and DiNozzo turned his face away, his wrist falling from his mouth.

"McGee," Gibbs said stiffly. "Place a call to the Norfolk office demanding back-up. Alert the SWAT team to the situation; tell them to sweep the area for a sniper. They won't find 'im," Gibbs paused, "but it's a risk I won't take."

McGee answered affirmatively, but the connection was shoddy again, interfered with because of all that was going on.

"Find somewhere to take better cover," Gibbs ordered.

He looked out over the roof again.

"Gibbs," McGee's voice came over the channel again, hesitant and defeated. Earnestly, he asked: "Is Tony telling the truth?"

Gibbs eyes fell on Kate's body.

"Yeah, McGee," he said heavily. "Kate's dead."

* * *

><p>Even after SWAT had properly cleared the area, there was too much to be done for anyone to start the long drive back to D.C. They had not come across Ari, and though Gibbs had known he would be long gone, it still enraged him. He slammed his fist into the side of the car when he was told and ignored the throbbing pain that shot through his knuckles and vibrated up his arm. He wasn't even sure he felt it at all.<p>

Things seemed to be moving in a harsh, mechanical fog. He tried to think of it as a routine crime scene, but he couldn't. It was one of his team lying dead on that rooftop. One of the people entrusted to his care and protection. There was nothing routine about it, nothing easy about it, and nothing would change that.

DiNozzo had snapped out of his funk when they'd met McGee at ground level. He clearly hadn't wanted the probationary agent to think he was taking this with any difficulty, and almost miraculously he'd been collected about it, even firing off a few ill-made jokes. They were poorly timed, and he was off his game, but he, too, was trying to be normal—trying to brush it off. Now wasn't the time to lose it, and his momentary hysteria at the moment of Kate's demise could be excused if no one mentioned it.

"Norfolk's M.E. is coming to escort the body, Boss," McGee said, meeting Gibbs on the stairs before the roof. He paused and stood back, refusing to come any further. "He'll take it—her—Kate back to the morgue and transport her—the body—to D.C. from there." McGee stumbled over his words, trying to come to grips with how he was supposed to speak about _it_ now.

Gibbs nodded. He checked his watch and rubbed his jaw tensely. He nodded again.

"Call Abby," he said. "Let her know. Tell her to come in when she's ready. We need her tonight."

It was late in the afternoon now, and it would be even later when they finally got back to D.C. Abby usually left the office by five unless she was working on something huge. She would be gone.

"Uh," McGee stammered. "Uh, Boss, I don't—I think—"

"Spit it out, McGee," Gibbs said tiredly.

"You should tell her," McGee said gruffly, his face flushing uncomfortably. "I—can't."

Gibbs considered the young man for a moment, and then reached forward and clapped him on the shoulder, looking him dead in the eye intently.

"No," he said firmly. "You're marryin' her, Tim," he pointed out. "This is part of it. You gotta be there for her," he advised. He started past McGee and turned around. "Let Tony know about the M.E. Two of you, police the rooftops in the area, find out where Ari was. Look for shell casings, anything to identify him with."

"Don't make me go up there," McGee asked.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes again. He almost shouted at McGee to get his ass on that rooftop and face what they couldn't change. He knew it was hard and he knew there was a lot of pain in seeing your teammate cold on the ground, but there wasn't time to coddle McGee. There wasn't time to shirk responsibility because of a little heartache. The heartache had to come later—it had to be squashed down and blocked out until—

Gibbs sighed under his breath.

Not everyone, he realized, was as used to bearing pain like he was.

He turned on his heel and shoved past McGee, emerging onto the roof where DiNozzo was directing the crime scene with the strangers from the Norfolk field office. DiNozzo held a camera, his eyes on the tarp covering the small frame of Kate's body. He barked an order at someone policing shell casings from the corner of the roof.

"Those are our rounds, our rounds!" he shouted. "Let 'em be, they aren't what took her down—Boss," he broke off when he saw Gibbs approaching, looking sheepish suddenly.

He stopped shouting at the probies and lowered his camera. He still had blood on his face. Gibbs moved his hand as if to wipe it off but stopped short, his hands going into the pockets of his jacket instead. He looked down at the body. DiNozzo's feet were angled around her head, almost protectively. Her face was hidden, the bullet hole covered, the blank, hollow look in her eyes shielded from them.

"Police the surrounding rooftops for Ari's sniper nest," Gibbs said bluntly. "Scour it all twice if you have to, I don't give a damn how long it takes." His words were harsh, but his tone wasn't. He just sounded _tired_. "Norfolk'll assist you. You, and McGee. He's tellin' Abby right now. I'll put a call in to Ducky and the Director on my way back to the Navy Yard."

DiNozzo let the camera fall completely, and it hung around his neck looking limp and heavy. His brows furrowed.

"You're leavin'?" he asked. "You aren't stayin' to close the scene?"

Gibbs shook his head slowly, reaching up to rub his jaw.

Too many people milling around would be a hindrance. He trusted DiNozzo to run this, and he thought DiNozzo needed the hardening for the moment. He needed to get his head in the right place.

His senior agent glared at him, waiting expectantly, looking abandoned. Gibbs clenched his teeth, squinting around the rooftop in the sun. There were clouds in the sky, and it smelled like humid rain. He turned back to DiNozzo, thinking about McGee refusing to come up here and look, and Ducky, and Abby, and all the times he was going to have to look into someone's eyes and see this reality.

"You oversee the scene, Tony. You don't come back to D.C. until it's sealed," he paused heavily and looked down to the covered body at their feet. "I have to tell Maddie," he said stiffly.

The abandoned glare on DiNozzo's face changed. He looked pale, sick. He swallowed hard.

"Wait," he pleaded. "Don't tell—just wait," he said. "Let her sleep through the night. I can—I can tell her with you. Wait, Boss."

Gibbs looked at him intently, a harrowed glint in his eye. He grunted in the negative.

"You don't want to be there, Tony," he said curtly.

"Why?" Tony asked desperately.

Gibbs thought of the day Tali had died in Tel Aviv.

"Because," he retorted gruffly. "This time, she'll understand."

* * *

><p>Still holed up at the State Department, Jenny Shepard stared out of a window in an empty conference room as it began to pour. Rain hit the windows forcefully, refusing to let up, and even though the sound of it was loud and hypnotic, she heard the door open.<p>

She turned slowly to face the intruder, one hand still resting on the phone she'd hung up moments ago. She said nothing as Ziva David shut the door and locked it, ensuring they were alone. The brunette crossed to the large table and sat down silently, propping her legs up and looking at the redhead.

Jenny leaned onto the table and put her chin in her hands.

Ziva tilted her head back and stared at her.

"You spoke with your father?" Jenny asked.

Ziva's face hardened, and she said nothing.

Jenny corrected herself. "You spoke with your director?"

This time, the Mossad officer nodded curtly.

"Al-Qaeda's attempt on the returning Navy ship was thwarted," Ziva said coolly. "Ari successfully led Agent Gibbs to disrupt it."

"Funny," remarked Jenny tightly. "That isn't the way I heard it."

"That is what occurred."

Jenny slammed her hand down on the table.

"Caitlin Todd is dead!" she barked. "An NCIS agent is dead," she went on, lowering her voice tensely.

"A casualty of war," Ziva said.

"No," Jenny said coldly. "A casualty of hatred," she added fiercely. "She was shot in the head, Ziva. She was gunned down from a distance, from miles away. She was killed by a sniper."

"I received the report from the Mossad—"

"A _sniper_, Ziva!" shouted Jenny. "Not Al-Qaeda on the rooftop. Not a terrorist hiding in a corner. A sniper took her out _from a mile away_—someone who knew she would be there. Someone who was aiming for Gibbs."

"You are wrong," Ziva said aggressively. "You are mistaken, Jenny. If Ari had done this, if Ari had aimed for Gibbs, then Gibbs would be dead."

Jenny stood up violently and turned her back, pacing away. She whirled around on her heel and leaned over the table, her eyes flashing.

"Be careful what you say, Ziva," she warned. "Do not tempt fate."

"How do you expect to do your job if you are already compromised by your personal involvement with Gibbs?" Ziva demanded. "How can I trust that you will do justice by me if I know that you are blinded by your feelings for the one man who wants my brother dead?"

"I don't give a damn about your _brother_!" Jenny spat. "Jethro is the father of my child! He means more to me than your bastard brother will ever mean to you!"

Ziva stood now, her own eyes hard with anger.

"You are an only child," she lashed out. "You were loved by your father—you were not used by him. You do not know the bond that comes from a brother—or a sister. You—"

"You don't understand the bond of a parent!" interrupted Jenny. She pointed to herself. "I can never, ever sever myself from Madeleine; I can never rid myself of Jethro because of her, even if I wanted to! And your brother, the goddamn pride of Mossad is out to kill my family!"

"Ari is my family!" Ziva shouted. "I lost Tali! My father is not the same man who put me on his shoulders when I was a child! My mother is dead! And I do not love a man like you do—Ari is all I have left!"

"No, he is not," Jenny retorted fiercely. "You have us, Ziva. You have my daughter. You think you can give her Tali's necklace and have us not think of you as one of our own?" Jenny's eyes softened and she looked desperate, her eyes searching the Israeli's.

"Ari did not do this," Ziva asserted. "Ari cannot have betrayed me."

"It is not about you," Jenny told her. "He is betraying Israel. He is betraying your father. It is not about _you_."

"I am my father! I am Israel! It is one and the same."

"Not to him. You know he sees nothing the way we do. You know he would kill Gibbs in a heartbeat, he has killed Agent Todd without hesitation, but he will never touch Madeleine," Jenny's voice cracked and uncertainty crept in. "His world is pieces. He does not see how the pain connects it all."

Ziva put her hands into her thick hair.

"Ari did not do this!" she shouted hoarsely.

"You will have to choose," Jenny said coldly, straightening up. "In these next few days, you will have to make a choice."

"Between Ari and your _boyfriend_?" spat Ziva.

"Between the truth and what you want to see!" Jenny fired back.

Ziva turned away. She paced to the wall and leaned against it, her palms and her hands pressing into the stone of the building. She turned back after a moment, her face composed, her eyes dulled and hollow.

"You will prove it to me, Jenny," she said coldly. "You will prove that he is guilty."

Jenny swallowed. She studied Ziva intently for a moment, thinking of Jethro, of the agency, of how massively difficult this was all going to be. Her hands were tied in so many ways, and she had never thought, when she pondered the challenges that would come when she took Morrow's seat, that it would be something as explosive and bloody as this.

Ziva's eyes never left hers and curtly, she nodded—and gave her promise.

She would prove it, and then she'd let Jethro kill him.

* * *

><p>Abby could not once remember a time in her life when a bubble bath hadn't fixed everything.<p>

Since she was a small child, bubble baths had been _the_ cure. When she was really little, her mother used to bathe her and her little brother Luca together, and she used to dump soapy water on his head and laugh when it made him look like a drowned rat. When they had been too old for that, she had always taken to the bath when she'd had a bad day at school. As she grew older, she clung to the idea of bubble baths—they were fun. They were warm and snuggly. They were fantastic when she had company and just as soothing when she was alone and needed some calm cheering up.

But as she poured soapsuds into a bath, her phone still clutched tightly in shaky, white knuckles, she somehow knew that this bubble bath wouldn't make anything better.

Her throat hurt. It was still stiff and stuck, because she had been using all of her strength to hold it together while McGee talked. It had been bad enough that he sounded hoarse and choked, so she hadn't wanted to do anything that would make him lose it. She had kept her voice as steady as she could until she finally hung up, and then her eyes were so used to keeping tears back and her throat was so used to being closed that her muscles just ached and burned and she couldn't cry.

She could only watch the bath rise, and the bubbles bloom, and listen to the running water thunder and the pounding rain outside.

Gibbs wanted her to come in when she was ready, and she understood he was giving her time to process and deal with the information, but she was fooling herself if she ever thought she'd deal with it, process it. Not today at least. She would need weeks, even months.

She should never have left the office.

She should be back at the Navy Yard now, so she could sit with Madeleine in the lab and talk to her and play with her, and keep them both distracted and in good spirits until Gibbs returned from Norfolk. She had been so tired from tracking Ari and Al-Qaeda the past few days that she had been ordered by the Director to leave when he had come to check that Madeleine was okay, and she had. She'd left Gibbs' daughter with the Director, as she was bidden to do, and gone home to sleep.

Now Kate was dead, and she couldn't imagine sleep ever being peaceful again.

Abby had never lost a close friend before. She had known many who had died. She had lost family members and classmates and co-workers, but she had never lost a best friend—and to lose Kate was breaking her heart. It didn't seem real. Kate was her maid of honor, the woman at NCIS she could connect to, her _best_ friend.

Kate…dead.

Abby sank into the bath and pulled her knees up, letting the water beat against her back as she leaned towards the faucet. She rested her cheek on her knee and closed her eyes. The hot steam melted her eyeliner and dampened her hair, and it seemed to loosen up her muscles so she could finally start to cry and begin to steel herself to go in and process the evidence that had killed Kate.

* * *

><p>There were only a few things in his life Gibbs had found impossible to face. Shannon and Kelly's funeral had been one of them and, after that, cleaning out the house he had lived in with them. Now, again, he stumbled upon a situation he blatantly could not navigate.<p>

He spent the whole drive back from Norfolk trying to script the conversation he needed to have with Madeleine. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to think of any words that would do. He knew there was nothing to make it less upsetting for her, but at the same time, he couldn't even begin to formulate what he would say.

As he started at the elevator walls, he wracked his brains remembering what he and Jenny had told Madeleine when Tali David had died, but she had been younger then, and she hadn't quite understood. They had repeated gently and often that Tali was too hurt in her accident to come back, and after a while Madeleine had stopped asking for her, and had perhaps come to understand—especially when Gibbs exposed her to Shannon and Kelly—that Tali had died, and she was gone from this world forever.

She had been three then, still a toddler. She was five now, and she was bright, and smart, and she understood what it meant to be dead. The very last thing Gibbs wanted to do was tell his little girl Kate Todd was dead.

He stepped off the elevator onto the catwalk before Morrow's office and took slow steps to reach it. Abby had obediently left Madeleine with the Director when she went home, and Gibbs had been told by Morrow's secretary that Madeleine was safely tucked away with him. He wondered briefly how that was going, considering Madeleine hardly knew Director Morrow, but there were more pressing matters at hand.

"Charlene," he greeted quietly, nodding his head at her.

She raised her hand in a dull greeting, her face sad. She pointed at the door.

"Go on in, Agent Gibbs," she said softly, her voice shaking.

He looked at her sadly. She was easily upset, and the news of Kate's death was clearly a shock for her.

He strode on through Morrow's door to his office and closed it behind him quietly. Madeleine was stretched out on the Director's couch with a cell phone in her hands, apparently playing a game on it. She twisted her head around when she heard him come in and beamed, bolting upright.

"Daddy!" she cried, scrambling off the couch. She ran over and hopped at his feet, holding up the phone and showing it. "Sir Tom has games on his phone!" she announced.

Gibbs raised his eyebrows, reaching down and placing his hands on her shoulders gently. Morrow rose from his desk, smiling benignly. Gibbs looked at him skeptically.

"Sir Tom?" he asked.

"I told her to call me Tom," Morrow said good-naturedly.

"But Daddy calls you _sir_," Madeleine pointed out, inching closer to Gibbs. She held the cell phone tightly and hugged his legs. "Abby left. I wanted to go, but she said I had to stay. Sir Tom is nice. He gave me Chinese food. But I want to go home, Daddy. Can we go home now?" she asked rapidly.

Gibbs reached down and picked her up, silencing her with the gesture. She quirked her brow at him and flung her arm out towards Morrow.

"Here is your cell phone, Sir Tom," she said politely.

He came around to take it.

"You didn't have to feed her," Gibbs said gruffly.

Morrow shrugged.

"It kept her busy," he said mildly. "She's surprisingly good at Tetris," he said dryly, checking the score on his phone.

Gibbs stared at him, and Morrow laughed.

"I have grandchildren, Agent Gibbs," he pointed out, noting Gibbs' surprise that he'd had such an easy time with Madeleine.

Madeleine plucked at Gibbs' collar.

"Put me down," she said. "Please, I'm too big to be carried. Daddy," she whined. "I want to go home. Pony kidnapped me from my bed last night. Oz is lonely."

He took her hand gently and held it, stopping her from tugging on his shirt.

"Hush," he said firmly, and she glared at him, clamping her mouth shut.

Morrow rubbed his forehead, looking tired suddenly.

"You never go out and expect to come back without someone," he said in a hollow voice.

"No, sir," agreed Gibbs, thinking along the same lines himself. It had not even crossed his mind that he might come back from this a woman short. He had known his own life was in danger, but he hadn't thought to watch for a sniper on the rooftop. He hadn't thought to protect his team from an unseen foe, because he'd assumed they would go for him—

He cut his thoughts off there. He shifted Madeleine and hiked her up higher on his hip.

Morrow looked at the little girl and smiled sadly.

"You want to use my office?" he offered.

Gibbs shook his head. He hadn't decided where he was going to take Madeleine to tell her, but this office was too unfamiliar to him. He might have to leave before she was ready, and he needed to be able to sit for a long time without interruption.

"I have to be in MTAC for the next few hours," Morrow said gruffly. "There are things that must be done—this has come at a very inopportune time," he hesitated. "Forgive me. I didn't mean that as it sounded," he muttered. He hadn't meant to say Agent Todd's death would ever come at a good time. "Shepard is going to have her work cut out for her."

Gibbs moved his head sharply, narrowing his eyes.

"Sir?" he asked. Madeleine pulled at his collar again, sighing heavily. He pushed her hand away once more and held it tighter. "Shepard?"

Morrow blinked.

"She hasn't-?" he began, and then he shook his head with a grim smirk. "You haven't spoken to her?" he asked.

"Heard a rumor she was here," Gibbs answered gruffly.

Morrow nodded curtly, that strange look still on his face.

"She's at the State Department," he informed Gibbs, "handling Ziva David."

Madeleine's head whipped around.

"Tee?" she asked. "She is here?" She threw out her hand and pointed at her necklace. "Today is Tali's birthday!" she reminded Morrow.

Gibbs felt a horrible sinking feeling in his gut. She was right—it was; it was Tali's birthday. Had Ari meant it to be that way? Had he intended to commemorate his little sister's death with the murder of Caitlin Todd?

Morrow did not answer Madeleine.

"They'll both arrive at NCIS shortly," he said. He looked as if he would say more but shook his head. "No, she should do it," he muttered to himself and then reached up and rubbed his jaw uncomfortably. "I've got to get to MTAC," he excused himself.

Gibbs nodded curtly, and Morrow stepped past him, leaving the office abruptly.

Left alone in the Director's office, Gibbs could hardly process the idea of Jenny being here. There was too much on his mind for him to deal with that on top of everything else—Kate was _dead_, Jenny was _here_, and in charge of Ziva's leash—none of it seemed to make _sense_ right now.

He felt like he was suffocating.

"Daddy," Madeleine said sharply, yanking hard on his collar again.

That explained some of the suffocating.

She gave him a mean look, her green eyes hard.

"Take me home _now_," she demanded.

He turned towards the office door and brushed her hair back, shaking his head slowly.

"No, Madeleine," he denied her quietly. "No, we can't go home right now."

* * *

><p>He took her down to Abby's lab. It was where she had comfortably spent most of the day, and it was where her blankets and the few toys Gibbs had brought her were located. He turned on the dim lights in Abby's office just outside the ballistics lab and sat down in Abby's desk chair. Madeleine sat on his lap for a moment and then got up and went to fetch Bert the Hippo from a corner where he'd been having tea with her stuffed duck and a pretty look-a-like doll her mother had bought her in California.<p>

She squeezed Bart until he made noise, laughed, and ran back up to Gibbs. She placed the hippo in his lap and rested her chin on him, looking up at Gibbs with wide eyes through her long lashes.

"Daddy," she began quietly. "What is wrong?"

He leaned forward and reached for her hands. He took them in his and held them tightly, his fingers running over her small wrists. He wished he were anywhere but here; he wished he were telling her anything but this. It would be bad because she loved Kate; it would be worse because she wasn't old enough to understand that there was risk in this job, and this could happen to any of the people she loved at any time, on any given day. As devastated as Abby might be, and as hurt and sad as McGee and DiNozzo would feel, they were adults. They were prepared to an extent; Madeleine would be blindsided, and she wouldn't understand.

And he—wasn't even going to tell her that Ari Haswari had done this. That was something she did not need to know. It was a detail that would remain unmentioned to her until later in life. He didn't mean to hide it from her, but he also had no intention of frightening her that badly.

"Why can't we go home?" Madeleine asked.

"Emmy," Gibbs said calmly. "There are some scary men who are trying to hurt Daddy," he explained. "They aren't going to get me, and I won't let them get you, but it's much safer if we stay at NCIS right now. Scary men can't get us here."

"I want Oz," she said automatically, her eyes going wide. "Oz protects me. Don't leave him at home if scary men can get him there. I want Oz, Daddy."

He nodded.

"I'll make sure someone brings Oz here," he agreed, already planning a way to do just that. "I won't let anyone hurt the dog," he promised.

Madeleine rested her chin more heavily on Bert. She blinked, frowning unhappily. She stepped forward and stood on his feet, getting closer.

"Aba," she whined softly. "Where is everybody?" she asked.

He wished she wasn't so perceptive. It was almost as if she knew what was coming. He leaned closer, squeezing her hands tight again.

"Madeleine," he began quietly. "There's been an accident—"

"Mommy," she squeaked, tears welling up in her eyes.

"_No_," he said aggressively, shaking his head. "No, no, no, shhh," he soothed, stroking her hair. He rubbed her cheek gently with his thumb, looking at her earnestly. "Mommy is _fine_, she's not hurt at all, honey," he promised. "Ima is safe." He hesitated and tilted his head, steeling himself to go on. "Kate got hurt when we went to stop the bad guys," he said.

Madeleine hunkered down at little, burying her face in the hippo. She blinked at him silently and said nothing.

"Kate is okay?" she asked. "Kate is sick, like Pony?"

Gibbs shook his head, his throat locking up painfully. He waited until his muscles relaxed a little and he swallowed, setting his jaw.

"Kate was hurt very badly, Emmy," he said quietly. "She isn't going to get better."

Madeleine blinked.

"But can we take her to a doctor?"

"No, honey," Gibbs said softly. He cupped her chin in his hand. "Kate," he stopped speaking, lost for words for a moment. "Kate died, Madeleine," he said hoarsely.

Madeleine squinted at him uncertainly. She buried her face in the hippo and jumped when it made noise at her again. She looked up at him and shook her head back and forth.

"No, she is not," she said matter-of-factly.

Gibbs didn't say anything for a moment.

"Madeleine," he began slowly.

"Abby is getting married," Madeleine said. "Kate is going to be there. Me too. Kate said she would braid me a flower crown."

"She can't be there, Emmy Jane," Gibbs told her gently. "Kate is with Tali."

Madeleine stomped her foot.

"NO!" she shouted at him.

She jumped back and glared at him obstinately.

"NO!" she said again, as if that would make it less real.

He leaned forward and extended his hands to pull her back towards him. She twisted away, and her lips puckered.

"I want to play with Kate!" she said to him. "I want to play with her. I want her to draw me another picture!"

Gibbs fell silent.

"Daddy!" shouted Madeleine. "I want to see Kate!"

He waited until she was glaring at him silently and put his hand over his mouth. He shook his head again, holding it together remarkably well.

"Kate is with Tali," he repeated.

Madeleine's face crumpled.

"NO!" she wailed. "No, no! Kate doesn't get hurt! Kate is a ninja!"

He blinked, and Madeleine turned around and took off out of the lab—before he could realize what was happening.

"Madeleine!" he barked, startled.

She was out the automatic doors and out of the lab. He bolted up and headed after her, the hippo still in his hands. He heard her footsteps down the hall—she'd bypassed the elevator—and a door slammed; she was going up the stairs. He was terrified suddenly; she could fall, she could get hurt—and he didn't know what the hell she was doing, running crazy like that.

"Madeleine," he growled, going up the stairs after her.

"NO!" she screamed back. "I WANT TO SEE KATE!"

He saw her hair as she flashed through the door onto the main floor and he caught the door before it shut and went after her quickly, slightly abashed he had been caught off guard enough by a five-year-old that he still hadn't caught her.

"Kate!" she shouted down the hallway. "KATE!"

Madeleine stopped in front of the elevator and looked around, her face pale and her eyes wide.

"KATE!" she sobbed to no one in particular, demanding Kate reveal herself.

Gibbs caught her and swept her up into his arms. She struggled, looking around wildly.

"Put me down!" she wailed. "Put me down, Daddy. I want Kate! I want to see Kate! KATE!"

The few agents left at the office were packing up to go home, and they all already had the black band around their badges. News of what had happened in Norfolk hadn't remained a secret, and these agents were staring at him, staring at Madeleine.

"Shh," he tried to quiet her. "Emmy, calm down. _P__lease_ calm down."

She coughed hoarsely, choking on her tears.

"Daddy," she moaned tearfully. "Daddy, I don't want Kate to die. I want to see Kate. I want to give Kate a hug." She threw her arms around his neck and kicked her feet, almost throwing a tantrum, making it impossible for him to get a good grip on her. "I want Mommy!" she sobbed suddenly.

He carried her towards the bullpen, ignoring the heartbroken looks he was getting. It was hard enough for him to deal with his daughter this upset, but to have to do it publicly, when he was already on the brink as well—it was taxing, to say the least. When he reached his desk, he sank down behind it amongst the pillows and blankets where she'd slept in a makeshift sleeping bag last night.

Madeleine clutched at his collar tightly, and this time, he did not pull her hand away.

"I want to say goodbye," she cried desperately. "I want to tell Kate goodbye! Please, Daddy! Please!"

He stroked her hair, holding her closer to his chest.

"You can tell her goodbye, Emmy," he soothed tensely. "There will be a church service, and you can tell her goodbye."

Madeleine shook her head.

"I don't want to!" she changed her mind. "Bring her back, Daddy! You make her better, like you made Mommy better! Make her un-hurt! Make her un-sick, like you made Pony! You fix it, Daddy! I want to see Mommy! You bring Kate back!" She kept changing what she wanted. "Daddy, please! Please, Daddy! Please!"

Gibbs pulled her closer, turning her little face into his shoulder and pressing his lips to her forehead.

"I can't, Emmy," he said hoarsely, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry, honey. I can't."

* * *

><p>It was with a heavy heart that Ducky returned to NCIS in order to see to the body of a dear friend.<p>

He had been in the middle of attending to his mother's evening routine when the call had come. Gibbs had told him to come in when he was ready, as they'd be in Norfolk for a while squaring things away, and so Ducky had calmly finished with his mother before taking a quiet moment of reflection.

The usually obnoxious dogs had been a comfort for once, as he sat in the parlor and pondered the last few years with Kate on the team. She had been good for them all, as female agents always were, and her death would be hard on them all—harder, precisely because she was a _she_.

Autopsy was dark when he entered, and he let it remain so. He just couldn't bring himself to shed light on the awful truth. He trudged to the coat rack in the corner and gently placed his hat and his raincoat upon it. Both were heavy and uncomfortably soaked from the downpour outside. He glanced over at the cold metal autopsy table where the black body bag was laid out and heaved a quiet sigh as he headed over.

She had arrived from the Norfolk office a mere half an hour ago, just as he was leaving his home to come in. He hoped they had taken care when they had placed her here for him.

He was quick about taking the zipper and opening the black bag, revealing the body and extinguishing the last glimmer of hope that maybe Gibbs was mistaken, and Kate wasn't gone at all.

Ducky reached up to turn on the bright overhead light. It cast a gloomy shadow over the unlit parts of autopsy and a bright, garish glow on Kate's pale body. She still had her NCIS gear on—her bulletproof vest, her windbreaker. She looked peaceful but for the single round between her eyes and the sticky, congealed blood spatter that framed her head on the black plastic. She could almost be sleeping, if it weren't for the cold, stiff skin and the inhuman paleness.

Ducky took his glasses from his face mournfully, shaking his head.

"Oh, Caitlin," he sighed forlornly, his eyes stinging as he stared at her beautiful face. "I am so sorry."

He reached out and touched her unyielding hand.

* * *

><p>Gibbs sat at his desk, his eyes fixed on Kate's chair. Madeleine was curled up in it, staring at him with wide, red eyes, but it wasn't her he was seeing. The rain was unrelenting on the windows, dark and foreboding outside, and though Madeleine had stopped her hysterics and fallen silent, the quiet in the building was almost too loud to bear.<p>

Madeleine shifted and rubbed her eyes, sniffling.

Gibbs stared, still not seeing her.

It was almost as if Kate was standing there—bullet hole in her forehead—

"Why me, Gibbs?" she asked.

He flinched silently.

The image of Kate dug her finger into her bullet hole vest.

"Wasn't stopping one bullet enough for you?" she demanded, her eyes filling with angry tears. "_Why did I have to take two_?"

He moved his head, brushing his fingers along his cheek lightly as if to comfort himself.

"I—I don't know," he muttered gruffly.

"Daddy?" Madeleine choked. She blinked at him uncertainly. She put her hands on her cheeks. "Who are you talking to?"

He focused on her, really seeing her now. The haunting vision of Kate was gone for the moment.

"Kate," he said honestly, his voice raw.

Madeleine's lip trembled. She clutched at her necklace and closed her eyes, her lips moving. She thought he meant he was praying. She thought he meant he was talking to Kate like the priests and the rabbis told her she could talk to the dead through God's ear. But he wasn't—he was being judged by the specter of Kate.

"You don't know?" Kate's voice echoed, and suddenly, her face was in front of his again, leaning closer. "Come on, Gibbs," she taunted. "What's that famous gut tell you?" Kate moved closer, the bullet hole burning his eyes. "_Why did I die instead of you_?" she shouted.

He didn't know. It didn't make sense.

Gibbs heard the elevator doors slide open and the bell go off.

"Emmy," he said, sitting up and beckoning. "Come here. You come sit with me."

"No," she said, curling up and turning away from him. "Leave me alone."

"Emmy," he began quietly, but DiNozzo and McGee were rounding the corner, and he was cut off.

"We found Ari's sniper's nest, Boss," DiNozzo said loudly, marching straight over to Gibbs' desk.

Gibbs snapped at him violently and pointed to Madeleine, holding a finger to his lips. She looked at DiNozzo sharply, her brow knitting in confusion, but she didn't say anything. DiNozzo looked uncertain, and Gibbs lowered his voice.

"Don't tell her who did it," he warned.

When that came out, it was going to come from himself or from Jenny-no one else.

DiNozzo nodded curtly.

"Abandoned office building to the east," McGee said, filling in the blanks slowly.

DiNozzo held out a full evidence bag.

"Didn't police his brass," he said distastefully.

Gibbs stared at the shells. He stood up abruptly and took them, examining them closely. He shined his desk light on them, squinting to be able to read more closely. Both DiNozzo and McGee were breathing down his neck but for once, it didn't bother him.

"They're Lapua 308s," McGee said promptly. "I—uh, I didn't mean that you couldn't see that, Boss," he added quickly, stumbling over himself to apologize.

Gibbs looked at him mildly.

"I can't without my glasses," he admitted with a shrug. He saw McGee's baffled look, and chose to ignore it. "Lapuas," he muttered, looking back to the bullet casings. "Match grade sniper ammo." He turned and held the evidence bag up above his head, squinting some more. "You guys find any bullets?"

"Uh," DiNozzo began. "None that match the casings. We, uh, left three guys on the roof searching."

"What's that?" Madeleine piped up. She got up on her knees and looked at them uncertainly, her face pale. DiNozzo was reminded of the first few days she'd ever been at NCIS, when she'd looked at them all like a scared, lost puppy. He looked at her and hesitated, waiting for Gibbs to answer.

Gibbs said nothing.

"It's evidence," McGee said helpfully.

"To help you fix Kate?" Madeleine asked hopefully.

DiNozzo flinched.

"To help us put the man who hurt her in jail," he corrected gently, because he figured it was inappropriate to tell her Gibbs was going to kill him.

Madeleine sat back unhappily. Gibbs shook the bullet casings around, and DiNozzo turned towards him, frustrated.

"McGee and I will go back to the rooftop, Boss," he decided, already dreading the drive back to Norfolk in this nightmare weather at this hour. He ducked his head and winced as Gibbs turned towards him, but the head slap he was expecting never came.

"Tony," Gibbs muttered. "You're soakin' wet," he pointed out.

DiNozzo stared at him, narrowing his eyes.

Gibbs patted his back firmly.

"Go put some dry clothes on," he said, walking past them to the window.

DiNozzo's jaw almost dropped to the floor. He turned and looked at McGee, real fear reflecting in his eyes. Gibbs was acting—weird. DiNozzo had expected rage, he had been prepared for brooding anger, but this—this was unprecedented. His gaze went from McGee to Madeleine, and she blinked at him, rubbing her eyes again.

"Pony?" she asked hoarsely. "Daddy says he can't fix Kate."

DiNozzo's shoulders fell a little.

"He can't," he agreed quietly.

"Can you?" Madeleine asked.

"No, Maddie," DiNozzo denied her softly.

She glared at him and looked at McGee next. He just shook his head. Madeleine stifled a yawn, and her eyes filled up with tears. She sniffled and covered her face, burying her head in her arms for a moment.

"His rooftop wasn't much higher than ours," Gibbs said from the window. He envisioned the scene, the way they were standing, the bullet ripping through Kate's forehead. "Rooflines behind us were lower," he mused. "No telling how far a full metal jacket bullet would go, after killing Kate."

DiNozzo pulled his heavy hat off his head, shaking rain out of it. McGee looked around at him, his brow furrowed.

"How's he know it's a full metal jacket?" he asked quietly, trying to hide his ignorance and protect Madeleine as well.

He didn't know how much the little girl understood. She was around NCIS a lot, but she was never allowed in the room if there were gruesome pictures or adult topics to discuss. Gibbs was excellent at keeping her shielded from it, and McGee didn't want to be the one to traumatize her.

DiNozzo lowered his head, refusing to look at McGee.

"Didn't you see Kate?" he asked hoarsely.

McGee swallowed. DiNozzo knew he hadn't been on that rooftop and still he asked; he made him say it out loud.

"I didn't want to," McGee admitted.

"Her head was intact," DiNozzo said coolly.

"Well, so—she didn't look bad?" McGee asked slowly.

"Nah, no, not at all, Probie." DiNozzo's retort was harsh. "In fact, a little mortuary putty right here," he poked McGee hard in the middle of the forehead, "and she'll be good as new." He ignored the pale, hurt look on McGee's face. "Of course, she was having a bit of a bad hair day," drawled DiNozzo, gesturing to the back of his head. "Right back here? Because a full metal jacket will put a hole the size of a grapefruit right about," he slapped the back of McGee's head, "there!"

"Tony," McGee said hoarsely.

"Pony, no hitting," Madeleine said shakily. "Don't hit Timmy, please."

"Please," McGee repeated.

DiNozzo felt sick for what he'd said. He clapped McGee on the shoulder, looking at him silently for a moment.

"Sorry, kid," he apologized.

McGee nodded, and DiNozzo went over to Kate's desk. He sat on the edge of it and looked at Madeleine, and she swiveled in the chair, sticking her foot out and putting it on his knee. He held it, his hands running over the buckles on her Mary Janes. She blinked, rubbing her eyes again. He opened his hands.

"Want to sit with me?" he asked.

"No," she retorted harshly. "I want to sit with Kate." She stayed put.

"Three rounds?" Gibbs spoke up fromm the window. "Only one hit?"

"Uh," DiNozzo said, looking around from Madeleine. "He must've popped off a couple rounds when you were weaving across the roof."

"I was standing still when Kate was shot."

DiNozzo fumbled for something to say.

"McGee lasered the distance at nearly six hundred meters," he said slowly.

"Five seventy-two," McGee clarified, and DiNozzo glared at him.

"Slight shift in the wind," Tony went on, shrugging. "He misses you, he hits Kate."

He remembered something Jenny had said to him once when she still worked at Mossad—that Ari Haswari had engaged in over a hundred sniper missions since his induction at Mossad, and he had never once missed a target. The rooftop scene flashed before his eyes again, and he knew DiNozzo was wrong—Ari hadn't missed; he hadn't shot Kate by mere chance.

"There was no wind," Gibbs said curtly.

"What are you saying?" DiNozzo demanded. "He was aiming at Kate? You're the one he wants to kill!"

"No!" shouted Madeleine. She lunged forward. "Pony, Kate was protecting Daddy!" she whimpered. "If Kate's gone, what about Daddy? No one can kill Daddy!"

"I'll protect him, Maddie," DiNozzo assured her smoothly. "You don't have to worry about him."

Madeleine looked completely unconvinced.

"I want my mother!" she shouted at Tony. "I want my _mother_, and I want Tee!"

Gibbs wasn't sure why Madeleine kept resorting to the name she'd called Ziva as a baby, but he didn't take it as a good sign. McGee strolled over and took DiNozzo's place in front of Madeleine.

"This just means even more people are protecting Gibbs, okay?" he tried.

She shook her head.

"Kate _promised_ he wouldn't get hurt," she insisted.

McGee nodded.

"She kept her promise. She protected your dad."

Madeleine's eyes were big and watery, and she took his words to heart with confusion and sadness.

"But," she stammered. "But why did she get hurt instead?"

McGee didn't know how to explain it.

"Because she was a soldier, Emmy," Gibbs said hollowly.

Madeleine wrapped her arms around herself.

McGee turned around, suddenly remembering something.

"Ar—he had a thing for Kate," he said.

"What are you talkin' about?" demanded Tony aggressively.

"She told me he was always comin' on to her. In autopsy, when he kidnapped her and let her go."

"She never told me that," DiNozzo muttered.

"Gee, what a surprise," snapped McGee.

"What?" barked DiNozzo, storming over and head slapping McGee hard. "Huh?"

"Don't do that, Tony," Gibbs said mildly, without looking up.

"Stop hitting!" snapped Madeleine in a squeaky voice.

Tony looked over at Gibbs. The boss was busy examining McGee's electronic control device for the missile.

"When was this hit, Tim?" he asked.

They needed something to do, a place to start, something to work on to keep busy.

"When I was pinned down," McGee admitted, walking over slowly.

Gibbs arched a brow.

"Did _he_ have a shot at it?" he asked, stressing the pronoun so it was clear that he meant Ari.

McGee's eyes widened

"Our car—was between the terrorist and the control. There's no way he could have hit it. Boss, I'm sorry," McGee said desperately. "I should have realized Ar—he—there was a sniper on the roof."

"Why didn't he pop McGee?" DiNozzo asked roughly.

"Oh, thanks, Tony."

"All I'm sayin' is you're a sizeable target; the controller isn't."

"What, are you saying I'm fat?"

"No! Well, maybe around the waist," mocked Tony. "Or under the chin."

"He didn't have an angle on Tim," Gibbs said, running his hands over the control mechanism.

The lines in his face seemed more pronounced, and he was on his way to entrenching himself firmly in the case.

"Well," drawled DiNozzo sarcastically. "You owe that shooter from the warehouse a thank you. He saved your life."

Gibbs popped open the control device.

"Bullet entered here," he remarked. "Could've ricocheted into the car."

"I'll, uh, get on it," promised McGee.

Gibbs checked his watch.

"Abby should be in by now," he said heavily. "Tony," he added, picking up the shell casings. "See what you can pull off that brass."

Gibbs paced around, rubbing his jaw tensely. He shuffled around his desk, pushing things around, and McGee and DiNozzo watched, both caught of guard by his calm, erratic behavior. He straightened and looked at Madeleine.

"I'm going for coffee," he growled, almost to himself.

She peered back at him. He moved his hand and beckoned her over.

"No," she repeated.

"Madeleine Jane, come here right now," he ordered firmly.

Her face crumpled, but she got out of the chair and trudged over, coming to stand by his desk. He took her hand and led her up to DiNozzo.

"I gave her Benadryl about ten minutes ago," he said gruffly. "It should knock her out here in a minute. She needs to sleep it off a little."

"Ah, Boss," DiNozzo said. "She can't sleep it off. None of us can."

Gibbs looked at him mildly.

"She's a kid, Tony," he said bluntly. "She's more resilient than we are." He placed her hand in DiNozzo's and firmly pushed their fingers together. "Do not let her out of your sight."

DiNozzo nodded firmly.

"Take her with you to see Abby."

He nodded again, and Gibbs crouched down.

"You want some hot chocolate?" he asked, intending to comfort her even if he knew she'd probably be asleep by the time he got back with it.

She put her thumb in her mouth, and he didn't knock it away, even though she hadn't done that in ages. She nodded slowly, and he pressed a soothing kiss to her forehead, stroking her hair back. He stood up and looked over at DiNozzo and McGee.

"Can I get you boys something?" he offered.

They both looked at him as if he'd grown another head and was trying to devour them whole.

"No," they said in unison, in hushed tones.

Gibbs turned on his heel and was gone, and Madeleine clung closer to Tony's leg.

"That's a first," muttered DiNozzo, awed by the offer.

"He called me Tim," McGee stuttered.

"He patted my back."

"It's kind of," McGee paused. "_Nice_."

"Nice?" hissed DiNozzo. "I don't want nice. He's not Gibbs if he's nice."

McGee lowered his gaze, and DiNozzo, too, turned and crouched down in front of Madeleine. She chewed on the edge of her thumb and looked at him with her red, puffy eyes.

"I want my mom," she told him firmly.

"We're going to see Abby," he answered. "Abby will make us feel better, don't you think?"

Madeleine looked skeptical.

"Abby is not Mommy," she said quietly. "I want to sleep in Kate's chair. Aba said I will fall asleep soon."

DiNozzo nodded.

"You have to stay with me. I'm taking care of you," he said earnestly, "and we're going to go visit Abby."

Madeleine let him start leading her towards the elevator, and she looked back at McGee for a moment. Then she glanced up at Tony, stumbling along tiredly next to him, her fingers clutching his tightly.

"Put me back in my bed at Noemi's," she pleaded. "I can wake up, and we can do this over and this didn't happen. Please, Pony."

He pressed the button on the elevator for her because tonight, it seemed, she didn't want to do it.

"I wish I could do that for you, kid," he said sincerely.

* * *

><p>Gibbs was right, and Abby was at work, but she wasn't the Abby they all knew and loved.<p>

She sat alone in her lab with most of the lights dimmed, her head in her hands, her face clean of make up. Her black hair hung lank and slightly damp around her cheeks, still drying from the rain. She was staring unwaveringly at the caricature Kate had once drawn of her, a cartoonish, happy-looking Abby with bat wings and full, voluptuous pig tails.

She had no Caf-pow!, no music, nothing really to keep her going.

She sat there waiting for something to do, trying to decide what she _should_ do to get moving, to get on with it, and she wondered what Kate would say if she could see her.

"You're a mess, girl!" she heard Kate's voice echo around the lab as if she were really there. "Red eyes, no make-up. If ever there was a time for black lipstick—it's now!" she encouraged.

Abby chewed the inside of her lip. In her mind's eye she saw Kate as she had always seen her, in the full glamour of rock-Goth that she liked to think everybody had buried in his or her soul—except maybe Gibbs. Kate's style would be long, winter-blonde hair, a vampire-like floor length gown, and crucifixes, of course, to honor her Catholic heritage.

In her mind's eye, there was a red wine-coloured smile on Kate's lips.

Abby wiped stray tears and rainwater from her face, and reached for a tube of her lipstick. She swept it across her lips shakily, her hands getting stronger with each swipe.

"Remember when we first met?" she heard Kate saying. "I couldn't believe you were a forensic scientist." Abby put her hands in her hair again, furrowing her brows. How could Kate's voice sound so real, how could it still feel like she was still standing here? "I thought Goths had bats for pets—or vice versa."

"I really liked you, Kate," Abby said out loud, her voice heavy. "A lot."

"Don't start that again!" Kate encouraged, ever looking on the bright side—except when it came to Tony. "Where are your pigtails? I love you in pigtails!"

Abby took the thick hair elastics from her wrists and began parting and slowly tying up her hair, doing her best to make things like Kate would want them. Kate was an agent; she was a fighter—she would want them to remember her and to give her justice, but she wouldn't want them to fall apart. She had always known the risks of her job as an agent, but perhaps Abby hadn't been prepared for the risks of her job as a friend.

"That's better," Kate seemed to say, smirking and shrugging lightly. "You always were persistent, Abs," she drawled. "First the dark lipstick, then the black nail polish. Next thing you know, I have a tat on my bum. And if that isn't bad enough, Maddie goes and tells Gibbs about it."

Abby giggled to herself. She had convinced Kate to get that tattoo, one night when she'd had just enough to drink to her brave but not enough to wipe her out. It wasn't anything vulgar or outrageous, and it wasn't something as pretty and predictable as a rose or a butterfly. Madeleine had happened to see it one night when Kate and Abby were watching her.

"Oh god," the Kate in Abby's head cried. "Ducky's gonna see it!" Kate laughed brightly. "I'm dead, and I'm embarrassed!"

Abby laughed with her, imagining the bemused look on Ducky's face when he came across the cursive words _kiss me_ scrawled on Kate's ass. It was silly homage to the musical—_Kiss Me, Kate_, a version of _The Taming of The Shrew_. It was part of an inside joke born of too many jokes about DiNozzo.

Abby tied up her other pigtail and laughed a little more freely.

* * *

><p>DiNozzo led Madeleine by the hand into Abby's lab, approaching cautiously. He was unaccustomed to a lack of music emanating from the lab, but when he heard Abby giggling, he was even more put off. Abby was the Mistress of Darkness and fascinated by all things death related, but he hardly thought she'd be giddy in a—in this situation.<p>

He walked in cautiously.

"Abby," he said tensely.

She turned around, a smile on her face—but the smile, he noticed, didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Hey, Tony," she said, trying to be bright. She saw Madeleine and tilted her head. "Hey, Maddie!"

Madeleine lifted her hand and waved silently, her lips puckered in a pout.

"You okay?" Tony asked slowly, coming further in with Madeleine.

He picked her up and placed her on the metal counter. She leaned forward and laid her head against his chest.

"I will be," Abby said bravely. She continued adjusting her hair. "As soon as I tie up my pigtails—there," she announced, whirling around in her chair. "What can I do for you?"

She got up and came over to stand near him and Madeleine, reaching out to brush the little girl's hair back. She leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead, resting her cheek on Madeleine's head.

Tony stared at her.

"What?" she asked, a little impatiently.

"You're weirder than Gibbs," Tony remarked quietly.

"How so?" Abby asked, still patting Madeleine's hair.

"He's being _nice_."

"Gibbs is always nice," Abby retorted sincerely.

"To you and Ducky, maybe, and to her," Tony pointed fondly at Madeleine. "Me he…growls at and smacks on the head."

Abby perked up and looked at him sternly.

"Which makes you feel wanted," she pointed out honestly.

"Yeah," he agreed slowly.

"What do you got for me?" she asked.

Madeleine slipped her hand into Abby's as Tony pulled the evidence bag from his pocket. He hesitated, swallowed hard, and handed them over.

"Three-oh-eight casings from Ar—his sniper's nest," Tony said, glancing down at Madeleine. He gave Abby a pointed look. "We aren't using names," he told her.

She nodded in understanding.

"I assumed so," she said glumly, taking the bag purposefully. She clicked a pen to sign for the evidence. "You would have to give me the _most_ popular caliber _in_ the world."

"Well, hey, I just found them," Tony retorted, nettled. "Can you tell what weapon he used?"

"A three-oh-eight," Abby answered, rolling her eyes a little.

"What model three-oh-eight?"

"You don't know?" Abby asked, cocking her head.

"Would I be asking?"

"Well, how am I s'pose to know?" Abby retorted uncertainly, her eyes flickering a little. Some of the brightness she had been shining dimmed a little and her shoulders dropped.

"You're the firearms expert," Tony pointed out sharply.

"That," Abby admitted, bending down to kiss Madeleine's head again, "I am." She sighed heavily. She pulled a box of latex gloves towards her and popped them to loosen them, sliding them on her hands. "When I'm done I will tell you the propellant, the primer, the percentage of nickel and copper in the brass, whether or not the rounds were fired from the same weapon—which you assume, but I can prove or disprove—I will tell you who manufactured the ammo, the batch number, and perhaps where it was sold," she stopped to take a breath in the middle of furiously turning on all of her equipment. "I will also with some degree of accuracy tell you if it was fired from a bolt action, a lever action, a semi-automatic, or an automatic weapon however there is no way in hell I can tell you which of the eighty-seven different three-oh-eight models fired those rounds!"

When she finished her monologue, she was shouting, and she was standing right next to him again.

Tony stood still.

"Abby," whimpered Madeleine. "Please don't yell. I don't like it," she begged.

"Oh," Abby gasped, her face blanching. She turned and grasped Madeleine's cheeks lightly, a sad look washing over her face.

"The rounds are Lapua," DiNozzo said quietly.

Abby turned to look at him, distracted by his words, and by how she'd scared Madeleine.

"What?" she asked desperately.

"Lapua made the ammo," DiNozzo answered. "Logo is on the rim."

Abby stared at him, her eyes shimmering.

"Tony," she said, her voice cracking. "Tony, I'm really gonna miss her!"

She launched herself at him, hugging him tight. He hugged back, gripping her shoulders tightly in his hands. Madeleine looked at them and stood up, tugging at DiNozzo's hands a little. He lifted his fingers and let her grab them, trying to smile at her.

"Me too," DiNozzo said to Abby.

"Abby can't fix Kate, either?" Madeleine asked in a small voice.

"No one can fix her, Madeleine," Abby said, her words muffled against DiNozzo's shoulder.

Madeleine squeezed DiNozzo's hand, blinking rapidly. Her eyes filled with tears, but they didn't fall—and she yawned. She tilted her head back, and Tony started to pull away from Abby, remembering that he should find a place for Madeleine to nap so the Benadryl could kick in benignly.

Something flashed through his vision, and he heard shattering glass.

He didn't think; he didn't hesitate.

He grabbed Madeleine off the table roughly, wincing when he heard her shout of pain, and he turned away from the window, shoving both her and Abby to the floor beneath him. Abby gave a grunt as the floor hit her and she was winded, and Madeleine managed to land on Abby and still crack her head a little on the cement. She screamed, reaching to cover her ears, and DiNozzo heard rather than saw the bullet whiz through the air and wedge somewhere in Abby's office.

Madeleine didn't stop screaming.

"You okay?" DiNozzo asked Abby.

"Yeah," she said earnestly, gasping for breath. "You're heavy. Madeleine—"

DiNozzo rolled over, grabbing the five-year-old and pinning her down. He began to check her for injuries. She wasn't bleeding, and she was screaming loudly enough to imply she wasn't knocked senseless, so he gathered her up and held her to his chest. He crouched down, grabbed Abby's arm, and dragged her across the floor towards the window, doing his best to avoid shattered glass.

Madeleine thrashed and kicked at him.

"It's okay, Maddie," he tried to soothe over her racket.

"DADDY!" she screamed.

"I know," DiNozzo muttered. "He'll be here in a minute," he growled, having no doubt that Gibbs was about to come flying into the lab.

He shoved Abby into a sitting position against the brick wall and pulled his weapon, gently toppling Madeleine into her lap. Abby hugged her close and reached out to hold onto Tony.

"God, no wonder you're so heavy, Tony, you're all muscle," she said, stroking the muscles of his thighs. He tried to ignore it, startled. He told her to hush, but it was no good, she was too shaken up, and Madeleine was crying too loudly for anything to be heard. Abby turned towards him as he slunk past her, and she slapped him on the behind. "Packin' a nice booty, too."

He whirled around.

"Hey," he hissed, getting close to her face. "Is this how you deal with getting shot at?"

"I don't know; it's my first time," she said uncertainly. "Tony, she's really scared," she added, still trying to calm Madeleine down.

"I know," DiNozzo growled. He bent down and got closer to Madeleine's face. "I'm going to protect you, okay?" he tried.

"Abby?" Gibbs barked from the hallway.

"Boss!" shouted Tony, relieved. "Boss, I've got her, I've got Maddie. Stay down, we're takin' fire," he ordered.

Gibbs ran into the room, keeping low, and flicking off all lights that were still on. He crawled over to them and slid into a sitting position next to Abby, wrapping his arm around her.

"You okay?" he asked, holding out his hand for Madeleine to fall into his lap.

She stumbled into his arms and clung to him, burying her face into his neck. She started to cry harder, displeased with how wet he was from the rain. She shivered and dug her little nails into his jacket.

Abby nodded, and Gibbs wrapped his other arm tight around his daughter.

"You're okay," he promised. "You're okay, Madeleine," he soothed. He shot a glare at DiNozzo. "Close off Anacostia Park between the bridges," he ordered sharply. "Tell metro cops it's a crime scene."

DiNozzo made to get up, and Gibbs lunged for him, protecting Madeleine from falling and grabbing DiNozzo at the same time.

"What if he has a night vision scope?" he growled.

"Good point, Boss," DiNozzo conceded. He began to crawl out of autopsy, and Gibbs fell back, shifting Madeleine into a cradle.

"I will get you bullet proof glass," he promised Abby aggressively.

"Gibbs, there's no such thing—" she protested.

"Okay, bullet resistant glass," he snapped. He was breathing heavily and looking at the glass peppering her hair. There wasn't much he could do for Madeleine until the shock wore off; she was ignoring him right now and all he could do was hold her.

She turned towards him and shoved her face into his shoulder, gradually getting quieter until all that was coming out of her were fearful whimpers. He shifted her again and hugged her tightly, pressing his lips to her temple.

Abby looked at him apprehensively.

"Ari—he—I'm sorry—he didn't shoot at you and hit Kate by accident, did he?" she asked, stumbling over the words, her cheeks paling when she realized she'd named the killer. Madeleine was too scared to notice. "He's after me now?" Abby went on.

Gibbs nudged her gently with his knee.

"I was walking past that window when he fired," he growled—it was true; the bullet had damn near flown right through his cup of coffee and Madeleine's hot chocolate, and both were ruined and spilled on the rainy concrete outside.

"You're just saying that to make me feel safe," Abby said quietly.

Gibbs put his arm around her again and pulled her close, pressing her head against his shoulder.

"I'll keep you safe, Abby," he swore, kissing her forehead, too. "I promise."

He sighed heavily, his heart threatening to beat right out of his chest. Madeleine was still crying. Outside, it was still pouring rain. And on the loose was a sniper with a personal vendetta; a man who knew the best way to break Agent Gibbs was to go after the women he loved.

* * *

><p>Ducky leaned down heavily, his eyes roaming over Kate's cold, pale face. He had the body, the tangible proof that she was truly gone, and yet it did not feel <em>real<em>. It was almost as if she were still here.

He shook his head.

"Why didn't you kill him?" he asked quietly, so used to talking to the dead. "In autopsy, when you had the chance to stab him?"

Her voice seemed to echo around the room, and it was as if he were looking into her deep brown eyes when she had answered the question when he had asked her once before.

"His eyes," she murmured regretfully. "There was something in his eyes that made me not want to kill him."

Ducky gave her a sad look.

"His eyes were ice to me," he muttered, scalpel tight in his hand.

Before he could begin cutting, Autopsy's doors swung open and Gibbs stormed in. He was soaking wet and still clad in his heavy black windbreaker.

"Ari fired into Abby's lab," he said bluntly, the words coming out in a harsh rush.

Ducky straightened up, his heart dropping into his stomach.

"Good lord," he murmured, turning to look at Gibbs fearfully.

"It had to come from across the river. Anacostia Park," Gibbs growled.

"Was Abigail hurt?" Ducky asked worriedly.

"No," Gibbs said heavily. "She's a little shook up. Emmy, too. Tony's with 'em. I couldn't bring Emmy down here."

"They're in the lab?" Ducky inquired.

"She's in the squad room, writing up an incident report," Gibbs answered narrowly.

He stared at Kate's body on the slab.

"You should have brought in another M.E., Ducky," he advised quietly.

Glasses clinked together, and Ducky slowly walked over with two tumblers and a half-empty bottle of whiskey.

"Couldn't," he said, popping the cork deftly. "Not for Caitlin." He poured a double shot into each glass.

"I've lost men in combat," Gibbs remarked suddenly, still fixated on the body. "You hope you won't. You know you will."

Ducky offered him the whiskey, but for once, Gibbs did not take it. Ducky set it down and lifted his own to his lips slowly.

"This is different," he comforted.

Gibbs turned to him sharply.

"But it shouldn't be," he said aggressively. "Kate was an agent. She knew she had to lay her life on the line," he paused, pain flashing through his blue eyes. "But you're right." He hesitated, taking a slow breath. "It's _different_."

"Yes, well," Ducky drawled. "You just said it: you've lost men. Have you ever lost a woman?"

Gibbs turned his head away.

Ducky chuckled quietly.

"Let's face it, Jethro. We're a couple of old chauvinists! Women will never be equal in our eyes until they are equal in death," he mused wisely.

"Why, Ducky?" Gibbs implored softly.

He walked forward, striding up to Kate's body. He thought of all the times Jenny had railed at him for being too protective, too stubborn, and too _chauvinistic_. He thought of each and every time he had been twice as angry or twice as concerned when Kate or Abby or Jenny had been in danger, or even, on rare occasions, any of his ex-wives. Was it really because he saw women as his inferiors? Or because that was the gender he was wired to love with more of his heart?

"Why Kate?" Gibbs asked. "Why not me?"

"Well, maybe he meant to hit you," Ducky supplied.

"No!" Gibbs retorted harshly. "No, him sniping Abby means he's after my people. Women first! Madeleine was in the lab with Abby, Duck. He's after my _people_, he's—" Gibbs paused, and he looked at Ducky suddenly, struggling in the silence. "I had a wife. I had a daughter," he reminded Ducky, his voice hoarse suddenly.

Ducky lowered his glass, his face unreadable.

"Before," he said. "Before Jenny and...Madeleine. Shannon," he told Ducky, "and Kelly. They were—murdered. While I fought in Desert Storm. DiNozzo told you," Gibbs muttered.

Ducky swallowed hard.

Gibbs paced around, rubbing his jaw tensely, and Ducky was left to process the information. He moved his lips soundlessly—how could he never have known? As long as he had worked with Gibbs, how could he never have heard?

"Ari knows about them," Gibbs growled.

"Then he's torturing you," Ducky said slowly. "Jethro," he began quietly. "When—how old-?"

"Ninety-one," Gibbs muttered. "She was eight, Duck," he answered, looking at his friend hollowly. "She was only eight."

Ducky's face fell. He couldn't think of anything that would possible comfort Gibbs, and so he went back to Ari.

"One has to wonder—what made him such a sadist," he said thoughtfully.

"I don't give a damn!" barked Gibbs violently. "I just want to kill the bastard!"

Ducky grabbed his shoulder before he could storm out.

"Jethro," he pleaded. "You must be careful. You have a _living_ child who needs you. Kate was willing to die so that child would have her father," he implored. "Do not act rashly and do something that will rob Madeleine of you."

Gibbs looked horribly conflicted. He took Ducky's hand and pushed it off of him firmly, looking the doctor in his wise old eyes.

"Ari will go for Madeleine," he growled firmly. "He'll go after her. He'd take her and ask Jen to kill me for her safety if he could." Gibbs glared at Ducky defiantly. "I'll take 'im down before he gets to her, Duck," he promised. "I'll kill him if it kills me."

"Jethro," pleaded Ducky.

"I can't _do_ it again!" Gibbs snapped hoarsely. "I can't lose—" he broke off. His face hardened once more, and his jaw tightened. "Nothin' compares to losing a child," he said in a low growl. "If I take a bullet so Madeleine lives, that's the end of it, 'cause I'll be _damned_ if I let Jenny suffer the way I did."

* * *

><p>She was glad MTAC was dark and buzzing with activity; everyone was too busy to notice how tense and unhappy the new Director of NCIS looked. She felt brittle, like at any moment she might break into a thousand pieces.<p>

She was still reeling from how quickly she had been expected to take the reigns of power here, and on top of that, coming into the office with something horrific like this on her plate. There were about five different agencies to balance, politics to play, and on top of that, interviews and publicity to see to. No armed federal agency had had a female director before, and she hadn't even been on the short list. Everyone from women's groups to the big time news broadcasts were salivating to get a moment with her, when all she wanted to do was make sure her little girl was safe and sleep for three days next to Jethro.

If she could just have a moment to breathe, to talk to Jethro about this, to prepare herself—

"Director," the man on her left called for her attention and began speaking in rapid Hebrew.

She nodded to him.

"Broadcast it on the screen," she ordered sharply, indicating he should bring the feed up for her.

Orchestrated using Ziva's Intel, this op would be the last she'd execute as an Assistant Director out of Cairo.

She got up, files in hand, and met with Morrow as he came in. She raised her eyes to his.

"What happened in the basement?" she asked tensely.

"Sniper fire in Sciuto's lab," Morrow said curtly.

"Haswari?"

Morrow paused.

"So says Gibbs," he allowed. "No other agency will cop to it being him."

Jenny's mouth tightened, but she said nothing. Morrow looked at her for a moment.

"You think it was him, Shepard?" he asked frankly. "You worked with the man."

"I never once trusted him with my life," she remarked honestly. She hesitated, thinking about it. "But I do trust his sister. Beyond the shadow of a doubt. She insists he is innocent," Jenny said. She moved her lips soundlessly. Finally, she admitted it: "I don't. Even when I worked in Israel, he hated Gibbs blindly. I know it was him," she said heavily.

Morrow gave her a cynical smirk.

"As Director, you won't be able to officially believe that," he told her dryly.

"I know how to play the politics, Tom," Jenny said tightly.

"But can you put a leash on Gibbs if you have to?"

Jenny considered him intently for a moment.

"I can," she said mildly.

Morrow cocked an eyebrow.

"Then I'm to assume there's another reason you failed to tell him you're taking my job?" he asked wryly. "I didn't take Gibbs for the kind of man who liked surprises."

Jenny smirked a little.

She was apprehensive of how this was going to go down. She just hadn't had the time to discuss her options with Jethro. She knew he wasn't going to be happy, and she supposed, deep down, she knew she could have made the damn time to at least fill him in—but she hadn't, and she couldn't take it back now. She was at least going to promise him this was the last time she'd make a career choice without considering him at all.

"He took the last surprise fairly well, Tom," she said smoothly.

"And what was that?" Morrow asked.

Jenny cocked her head.

"Madeleine."

* * *

><p>Abby and McGee had found bullets in the federal car—bullets from Ari's sniper weapon. They were embedded in the trunk, and it was chilling to see just how close McGee had come to suffering the same end Kate had on the rooftop. Metro police department found shell casings in Anacostia Park, and DiNozzo had asked them to bring the evidence to NCIS.<p>

The only thing for Gibbs to do right now was to answer the Director's demand that he meet him up in MTAC.

He stopped briefly in the bullpen to check on DiNozzo and Madeleine. He was working on something at his desk and even though Gibbs had told him to put Madeleine in her little sleeping bag area when she knocked out, DiNozzo was letting her sleep in his lap.

She looked comical, sprawled against his chest, and Gibbs smiled slowly, glad to see her peacefully asleep.

"Director wants to see you in MTAC," DiNozzo informed him again.

Gibbs nodded once, glancing up and looking at the catwalk. He stepped closer and reached out to brush Madeleine's hair off her forehead gently. She smacked her lips in her sleep, and he cleared his throat.

"Only gave her half a Benadryl," he said. "Didn't want to overdo it. She won't be out too long," he muttered.

"You think I should ask Ducky to sedate her if she's upset when she wakes up?"

"Play it by ear," Gibbs answered. "I'll decide what she needs," he added, stepping back and turning on his heel.

He took the stairs up to MTAC at a run and lowered his eye to the retina scan, which granted him access immediately. The room was lit with activity; there were all kinds of feeds up on the large video screens and more people than he had expected were milling around with headsets on. He spotted Morrow farther back in the theater seating and jogged up the stairs to him.

"What do you have?" Morrow asked the moment Gibbs sat down.

"Brass from Ari's sniper's nest," Gibbs answered. "Three bullets. Tire tracks in Anacostia Park, where he fired a shot across the river into our forensics lab."

"Unusual for a sniper not to police his brass, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"I've received calls from every director I know promising to hunt down this sniper as if he'd killed one of their own," Morrow said harshly.

"FBI might be the most help," Gibbs said. "Ari Haswari is their mole."

Morrow didn't say anything for a long moment, and Gibbs took it as a bad sign.

"According to your after action report, no one actually saw the sniper who killed Agent Todd," Morrow remarked finally.

"Ari was on a rooftop six hundred meters away."

"Extraordinary shot," Morrow complimented.

"No, sir, not really," Gibbs growled, bristling.

"You were a sniper with the Corps, weren't you?" asked Morrow.

"Two tours."

"Vietnam?"

Gibbs laughed, slightly startled.

"I'm not that old, Sir," he pointed out. "Panama and Desert Storm," he corrected.

"Thought you were older," Morrow noted.

"Target vehicle approaching," a sharp, female voice said. More action broke out on the screens, and Morrow fell silent as another deep voice began speaking in—Gibbs recognized _Hebrew_. He felt an odd sensation in his gut and looked sharply at the men standing down front.

"Target confirmed, target approaching."

On the biggest MTAC screen, a heavily armored vehicle locked into crosshairs and was annihilated in a storm of fire. One man raised a fist in triumph, and the Hebrew confidently proclaimed success—at least, from the little Gibbs could pick up, he was confirming a hit.

Morrow turned slightly.

"Where was I?" he asked.

"Avoiding using Ari's name and the word sniper in the same sentence, sir," Gibbs remarked tensely.

"Your anger is understandable, Jethro," Morrow said calmly. "You lost an agent. You want payback."

"Don't you, sir?" Gibbs demanded quietly.

"It's a passion I can't afford."

"You honestly think it wasn't Ari?" Gibbs growled.

"No," Morrow confirmed. "But there are those that do."

"Those who ran him?" asked Gibbs sardonically. "Those who thought they had the holy grail of moles? Those people coverin' their asses right now?"

"Make sure you cover yours when you bring 'im in."

"Won't be a problem, sir," muttered Gibbs. "I won't be bringin' 'im in," he swore.

He knew Morrow shot him a warning, sideways look, but he ignored it. Morrow stood abruptly.

"Anyway. You're not my problem anymore, Jethro," he drawled.

"You firin' me, sir?" Gibbs asked wryly.

Morrow tucked his tie into his suit.

"I've been offered a deputy Director's position at Homeland Security," he revealed.

Gibbs looked surprised. He had always worked with Morrow. Morrow had been Director for—years.

"You'd leave NCIS, sir?"

"Well," muttered Morrow. "The agency could use some younger blood."

"Who'd be replacing you?" Gibbs asked.

His brow furrowed. Jenny had mentioned something about Leon Vance. He wasn't a man Gibbs knew much about—except that he owed him a cheese Danish—and he wasn't sure how he felt about working with a brand new director when right now he needed someone who knew him well enough to stay out of his way while he brought Ari down.

Morrow gave a little smirk.

Suddenly, Gibbs did not like that little smirk at all.

"Not me?" he asked, shaking his head quickly.

Morrow laughed outright.

"Much as I like you, Jethro, I would not shoot NCIS in the head," he pointed out. He started to walk down, his back to Gibbs—moving a little quickly, Gibbs noted, as if he wanted to get out. "He's your problem now, Director," Morrow said mildly.

When he thought about it later, he'd say he knew it was going to be her the moment Morrow said he was leaving, but in that very real split second when she stood up and turned around, he felt like he didn't know anything at all.

Morrow continued down the steps past her, and she waited until he was exiting MTAC.

"Hello, Jethro," she said.

He leaned back in his chair and just _stared_ at her.

Was this always where she had wanted to be?

The past six years flashed vividly before his eyes, starting in Paris, zooming through Israel, ending the last time he'd seen her, when he'd waved goodbye to her in an airport. Was this—it? Was she home to stay?

She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Should we skip the 'you haven't changed a bit bull'?" she quipped.

He moved his head slightly, still speechless. Somehow, he found words.

"You look better'n the last time I saw you," he remarked hoarsely.

"Any problems taking orders from me?" she asked bluntly.

He shifted in his seat.

"As Director, or as a woman?" he asked. Or as Madeleine's mother, he added silently.

He was starting to get his bearings back, and with that was coming a mixture of emotions he didn't have time to sort through. Kate was _dead_, and Morrow was throwing something like this in his lap?

"Either," Jenny said.

He moved his head.

"You haven't been my Probie for six years," he said coolly, standing up. "The past won't be a problem."

He took the steps down to her at a jog, coming to stand close to her. His muscles ached; he wanted to draw her close and bury his face in her neck for just a moment of respite and relief, and simultaneously he wanted to take her shoulders and shake her and shout at her. She had to have known this was coming, and she couldn't _pick up the damn phone_.

She glanced behind her.

"Leave us," she ordered to the few remaining techs milling around.

They hopped up without a word and saluted her shortly before taking their leave, and for a rare moment, he was alone with Jenny in MTAC. He never imagined that when he stood in this room with her again, she'd be his boss.

"You were a damn good agent, Jen," he said, looking over her mildly. "Especially under cover."

She flicked her eyes down to his mouth and smirked slightly.

"Jethro," she admonished quietly.

He drew his hand out gallantly.

"Madame Director," he returned.

She was unsure if he was mocking her or congratulating her. She bit her lip, silent for a moment, and looked up at him, eyes searching his earnestly.

"Madeleine?" she asked.

He dipped his head.

"Safe," he told her. "Asleep in the bullpen."

"Morrow told me the sniper fired—into the lab," she hesitated. "Madeleine was there?"

"She's safe," Gibbs repeated, his face hardening when he heard her say the sniper. "Ari, Jen," he corrected. "Ari fired into the lab."

He didn't like the look that crossed her face. She touched his shoulder tightly, her fingers pressing into his arm, and he stepped back, eyeing her critically.

"You better not be here to stop me," he growled.

She chewed her lip and straightened her shoulders.

"I have to tread carefully," she said logically.

"This isn't about you," he snapped. "I'm taking him out, Jenny," Gibbs promised.

She moved her head.

"No, it isn't about me," she agreed. "This is about international security. You don't make the calls when it comes to that."

"And you do?" he threw back. "You think now that you're in a pretty corner office, you decide who's good and who's bad."

Her hand twitched, and she pulled her fingers into a fist. Her mouth tightened, and she gestured for him to follow her out of MTAC.

"I'm not on his side," she answered curtly, leading him out even as he watched her walk away.

He couldn't reconcile how much he'd missed her and his desire for her and his happiness to see her with the pain he was feeling over Kate and the anger he harbored towards Ari. It was all just simmering and making it impossible for him to think and to focus.

He didn't have a chance to answer her before they were leaving MTAC, and she was speaking again.

"You have no evidence linking Ari to the shootings," she said coolly.

He shut the door of MTAC and caught up to her.

"It's no wonder agencies here and abroad have doubts," she tried.

"The bastard already killed one of my people. He's tryin' to kill more and I'll tell you something else. No suit with a tight ass is gettin' in my way and that includes _you_, Jen," he snapped, going right past her on the stairs.

She stopped dead.

"Special Agent Gibbs," she said loudly.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he paused and turned around. When was the last time she had called him that? At her first crime scene, when, in 1998? It had to have been Anacostia—

_Special Agent Gibbs, I think I left my weapon in the car._

_Well, Agent Shepard, go sit in there with it. _

He wondered if she remembered that, too.

He faced her silently and walked slowly back up the stairs, stopping on the one before her.

"On the job," she said icily, "it is Director Shepard or ma'am."

"Okay, what about off the job?" he fired back tensely.

She compressed her lips.

"We'll have to discuss that at home, Agent Gibbs," she retorted quietly.

He cocked his head.

"You think you should have discussed that before you took the damn job?" he goaded tightly.

He saw in her eyes that she was sorry for not telling him, but it only made him angrier.

"Don't do this now," she snapped under her breath.

He turned to the side with a sarcastic gesture of his hand and made way for her.

"Director," he said coolly, allowing her to walk in front of him.

Her eyes darkened slightly, but she took the steps.

"We can continue this discussion in private," she said mildly

"I've got to change my clothes," he said shortly. "We can talk in my car on the way to the house."

"Gibbs!" she implored, exasperated.

"That wasn't a line, Jen!" he protested, smiling a little. "Hey, I got a dead agent and a sniper on the loose. I do not have time to ring your bell."

He was sure she'd have caught up to him and _strangled_ him if she hadn't seen DiNozzo's head over the bullpen walls.

"Tony," he barked. "Where are we?"

"McGee and Abby are working firearms analysis. I'm about to take Madeleine to Abs when she's done firing weapons. I'm matching—" DiNozzo trailed off and began to lower the photograph he'd been holding in front of his face, his eyes falling curiously on Jenny.

Even if Gibbs hadn't just called him by name, the way this guy was looking at her like he wanted to know who she was, what her cup size was, and if she slept naked let her know immediately he was none other than the infamous Anthony DiNozzo. She took a split second to take in his Playboy good looks before he lowered the item in his hands completely and she saw that Madeleine was sleeping in his lap.

She leaned forward, but Gibbs put a hand out, took her wrist, and held her back.

"…tire tracks to vehicles," DiNozzo said slowly, looking Jenny up and down.

"No one is to leave the building," Gibbs ordered curtly. "McGee's on protection detail with Abby. You are still not to let Madeleine out of your sight."

He turned on his heel, and Jenny wrenched her hand from his—it wouldn't do for her new employees to see Gibbs drag her around like some helpless wench. Still, she almost couldn't resist running back and snatching Madeleine into her arms—but she knew it wasn't safe for them to take her from NCIS right now.

Gibbs switched his hand to her lower back, and they made for the elevator.

* * *

><p>DiNozzo nearly fell out of his chair leaning over to watch the somewhat <em>familiar<em> looking redhead with Gibbs walk away. He sat back, jolting his rolling chair, and Madeleine whined, sitting up and blinking at him. She looked sleepier than he'd ever seen a child look, and she cocked her head.

"Where's Daddy?" she asked finally, slurring her words.

"With a pretty lady," he answered, unable to resist.

"Mama?" she asked sleepily.

"I don't know. What does mommy look like?" prodded DiNozzo.

He looked up and leered towards the elevator again, and in the blink of an eye, it was like Kate was standing there, indignant as always, chastising him.

"Your mother should have washed your mind out with soap," her voice washed over him, echoing from the grave. "Gibbs leaves with a woman, and your only thought is _nooner_."

He looked over Madeleine's head at Kate's desk and envisioned her there.

"Was _not_," he retorted, using the best of his imagination's skills to make sure she had on something very un-Kate-ish.

"Was too," she said smoothly. "I've always known what you were thinking, Tony."

She put her hand on her hip, just like she used to. Madeleine rubbed her eyes and looked around. She smiled at nothing in particular, her eyes on the floor by Tony's desk. DiNozzo was still focusing on the Catholic School Girl outfit he was picturing Kate in. He licked his lips, and his vision of Kate glared at him.

"What are you up to?" she asked, glancing down. "Eep!" she shrieked. "Tony! I just died, and you're having a sexual fantasy?" she demanded.

Tony swallowed hard.

"I can't help it," he admitted.

Madeleine looked up at him. She pushed her hair up into both of her hands.

"Kate has pigtails," she said cutely, wrinkling her nose. "Who are you talking to?" she asked.

He shook his head, and blinked at her, and then looked back up at Kate. He imagined her skirt flying up and snickered.

"DiNozzo!" she squawked.

"Sometimes I used to picture you naked," he drawled.

Madeleine frowned at him. She let her hair down and rubbed her eyes. DiNozzo flushed, suddenly remembering she was there—and then, quite abruptly noticing there was someone else standing in the bullpen, silently observing him.

He slammed his hand down onto his phone, fumbling around wildly. The action startled Madeleine, and she whimpered.

"And that is what predators sound like, Madeleine," he said solemnly, pretending he'd been giving her a lesson.

She yawned and turned around. Her eyes fell on the woman who had just so startled Tony, and she froze.

"TIVA!" she cried groggily, scrambling roughly out of his lap and stumbling onto the floor unsteadily.

Surprised, Tony failed at stopping her, but even when she fell onto her knees, she got right up and ran forward, stopping uncertainly when the woman didn't kneel down to receive her. For a moment, Tony was unsure if the woman was going to acknowledge Madeleine at all but then, slowly, she went down on one knee and reached out.

"Tiva," Madeleine croaked again, wrapping her arms around the woman's neck. She lifted the child and stood back up, holding her surprisingly firmly with one hand. "_Tee_," Madeleine murmured again.

"Ziva," the woman corrected very quietly.

She hugged Madeleine and shot a cold look at DiNozzo.

"Hi," he said brightly, leaning back casually in his chair.

He wasn't sure if he should get up and rip Madeleine from this stranger's arms, or if he should play it cool and see what was up.

She strolled further into the bullpen, looking around. Her hair was held back in a thick pale purple bandanna and she was dressed in cargo pants and a flimsy shirt that didn't exactly show off her feminine figure.

Madeleine laid her head right on this stranger's shoulder and closed her eyes, murmuring quietly.

She mumbled something in Hebrew, and the woman answered.

"I was just—" Tony began.

"Molesting a toddler?" the woman supplied curtly.

"Molest—_no_," DiNozzo snapped. "She's—she's not a toddler, she's five—" he spluttered, trying to get to the point. "I was teaching her about Internet safety."

"On the telephone?"

DiNozzo glared at her. The woman spoke to Madeleine, and Madeleine answered, her eyes still closed.

"She says you were talking to yourself."

"Who are you?" DiNozzo demanded, hands behind his head.

She snatched an I.D. out of her pocket with her free hand.

"Ziva David," she said smoothly. "Mossad."

DiNozzo's face changed completely. His lips pursed and he narrowed his eyes, guarded suddenly—and intrigued.

"You're Israeli?" he asked curtly.

"Very good," she purred. "The way you made that connection. Mossad, Israeli," she teased, pacing around the middle of the bullpen. She turned to face him, standing right before Gibbs' desk, and she narrowed her eyes.

She spoke the same language as Madeleine, and she was from Israel—where Madeleine had lived for three and a half years before Gibbs took custody of her. Tony's eyes followed her warily and curiously.

"What can I do for you, Miss David?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said curtly. "I am here to see Special Agent Gibbs."

"How do you know I'm not Gibbs?" Tony asked indignantly.

Ziva laughed quietly, lifting her eyes to the ceiling. She sashayed over to McGee's desk and sat down in his chair, murmuring lightly to Madeleine in Hebrew. Madeleine answered, and Ziva laughed, refusing to translate. Madeleine shifted and put her head on Ziva's other shoulder, looking around at Tony.

"Gibbs," Ziva repeated, resting her hand on Madeleine's head.

It was then that Tony spotted the necklace at her throat—it matched Madeleine's completely.

"He'll be back in an hour," Tony said slowly. "You sure I can't help you?"

She clicked her tongue.

"I don't think so," she drawled lightly.

"I named my fish after you," Madeleine said suddenly, speaking quietly. "Ziva, will you take me home? I want to go home."

Ziva considered her for a moment.

"To Israel?" she asked curtly.

"I want to go away from here," Madeleine answered. She rubbed her eyes again and frowned. "Kate died like Tali."

Ziva pushed her fingers lightly through Madeleine's hair and said nothing. She looked over the child's head at Tony.

"We got off to a bad start," he said matter-of-factly, a thousand thoughts running through his head. He leaned forward, throwing his pencil onto his desk. He stood up and walked forward. "I am Special Agent Tony DiNozzo. I wasn't talking about Internet predators; I was remembering my partner."

Ziva inclined her head.

"Naked?" she queried.

"No. Yes. I," he paused, and gestured to Madeleine. "There's a child in the room," he whined. "I was just—look," he broke off again, clearly uncomfortable. "I'm not the only man who does it."

"Oh, women do it too," Ziva said simply, lifting her shoulders. "With handsome men. And even the occasional woman," she added wryly.

DiNozzo walked back to his desk grumpily.

"Now you're teasing me," he growled, sitting down and leaning forward to eye that Star of David necklace at her throat.

"Didn't your partner ever tease you?" Ziva drawled.

"Not about sex," Tony said, without thinking. "Kate was kind of puritanical."

"Sorry," Ziva remarked flippantly, right as Madeleine asked: "What's sex?"

DiNozzo let out a squeak of horror, but Ziva's reaction was much simpler. She stroked Madeleine's hair again.

"Ask your Aba," she said gently, but Tony swore he saw a wicked, playful glint in her eyes.

"Not that it matters," Tony said loudly. "I wasn't interested in her. We were partners."

Ziva David was taking her hair down, and Ziva David was a very beautiful woman, DiNozzo noticed.

"She wasn't attractive?" Ziva asked.

"Kate is pretty," Madeleine said. "Kate was going to be in Abby's wedding."

"She was," DiNozzo confirmed quietly, his eyes on Madeleine's head. "Not to me."

"Then why did you imagine her naked?" Ziva asked.

Madeleine turned and looked at Tony.

"Pony likes ladies naked," she said solemnly. "He has books with naked ladies in them."

DiNozzo raised his eyes to the ceiling and laughed in defeat.

"Miss David," he growled. "You can sit there and slouch provocatively for an hour if you'd like, or you can tell me what you need, and maybe I can help," he snapped.

Madeleine picked up Ziva's necklace and ran her fingers over it, and Tony started thinking again. This woman—this Ziva David—she couldn't possibly be Madeleine's mother, could she? She was young, hardly more than twenty-five, and Madeleine was just five herself. Gibbs didn't—he didn't like them _that_ young, as far as Tony knew. But hadn't Madeleine said her mother worked for Mossad? And—didn't she speak Hebrew? And there was the matter of the matching necklaces.

"You can't help me because I am here to stop Agent Gibbs from killing a Mossad officer," she said bluntly, breaking into his thoughts.

She stood up and gently set Madeleine on the floor, but when she paced into the middle of the bullpen again, Madeleine darted after her and held on to her hand.

DiNozzo's eyes hardened. He beckoned her closer, and she leaned in.

"I'd wish you luck, but I want the bastard dead, too," he growled.

He expected to see anger fly into those dark, mysterious eyes of hers, but she just pulled away from him, her face an expressionless mask. She took Madeleine's hand and let her to the window, speaking softly in Hebrew.

* * *

><p>Gibbs was positive he'd have an easier time convincing himself he didn't want to forget about the case and throw Jenny into bed if she hadn't insisted on laying down and <em>watching<em> him get undressed.

By the time she'd followed him to the basement while he grabbed a few last minute things for Madeleine, they were arguing, and he'd forgotten those lustful feelings. She was messing around with his tools, placing them in all the wrong places, and she seemed to be unusually fixated on the boat.

"Is this the same boat you were building six years ago?" she asked, cocking her head.

Apparently she hadn't noticed how incomplete it had been on her last visit, but then her injuries had kept her out of the basement all but once.

"Nope," he answered curtly.

"What happened to it?" she asked.

"Burned her," he answered, coming up and standing in front of her.

"Why would you—" Jenny broke off. "You named it after an ex-wife."

He looked annoyed and turned off the basement light.

"Let's go," he muttered.

"Which one?" Jenny prodded.

"You know damn well which one," he retorted indignantly, glaring at her through the wooden ribs.

"Why didn't you change the name?"

"Because, it wouldn't matter. Every time I went out on her, I'd think of Diane!"

"You could have sold it."

"And watch some other guy sail off on her?" he demanded, outraged.

"You didn't care who sailed off on Diane," Jenny reminded him.

He rolled his eyes and leaned back, running his hands over the boat as he walked towards the stairs.

"You're strange, Jethro," she said quietly.

"Me?" he pointed to himself and laughed derisively. He was turning off lights. "You were a good agent, Jen," he snapped bitterly.

"Were?" she asked sharply.

"Yeah," he fired back. "Director's job is pure politics."

"I'm good at politics!" she pointed out accurately. "NCIS needs someone who can shake the money tree on the hill and work with sister agencies."

"Is that why you did this?"

"You act like I staged some sort of military coup, Jethro!" she burst out angrily. "You berated me for five years about living abroad, and now that I've decided to come home, it's not good enough? It's not right, because it's not on your terms?"

"You!" he snapped, pointing roughly. "_You've_ decided. That's it, right there, Jen. It's you. It's always you. What you want, what you think is best, what's right for you. _You_ didn't think it was a good idea to give me a little heads-up?"

"There wasn't time!"

"You should have made time!" he growled. "You—you and your damn lack of time," he complained. "You used the same excuse when I didn't find out for four months that you were pregnant," he remembered. "Your attempts are so half-assed—"

"Okay!" she interrupted. "I knew you wouldn't like this, Jethro, but I refuse to apologize for it! It was this, or I stayed in Los Angeles, or I resign. You've already told me not to resign. You told me I should take Cairo. You may not like that I am your boss, but don't you dare pretend you aren't glad that I am _home_," she paused, "to _stay_, Jethro. I am _home_."

He was silent for a moment, and then he stormed around the boat towards the stairs.

"I cannot believe you would give up field work for rubber chicken dinners," he muttered, obviously guilted a little but not enough to give up his stubborn anger.

"You surely weren't expecting me to come back and work under you," she retorted acidly. "Take Agent Todd's place on the team, maybe?" she goaded.

He gave her a hard look.

"She can't be replaced," he said violently. "Ari Haswari made damn sure of that."

Jenny moved her head.

"It's not about rubber chicken or fancy dinners at Palena—"

"Never heard of it."

"Why would you, it isn't take out!" she snapped, frustrated. "Though I hope to God Madeleine's diet hasn't consisted of egg rolls and kung pow chicken!"

"So which of the tight sphincters is takin' you to dinner?" he demanded. "Please, tell me it's not Fornell," he said tensely, just _imagining_ Tobias's glee at wining and dining yet another of Gibbs' paramours, and in this situation, at that.

A slightly smug smile briefly flared on Jenny's lips.

_"CBS Early Show_," she admitted. "They want background before I go on T.V."

He jogged back down the stairs to her.

"Jen," he said. "Jen, you can't do that."

"Excuse me?" she asked sharply.

"Ari is a chauvinist. He is taking out the women I work with before me!"

"Jethro," she tried calmly. "People who should know don't believe Ari Haswari is the sniper, and you haven't provided any evidence to prove them wrong," she told him.

He could hardly contain the anger that brought out.

"Have you ever doubted me?" he demanded roughly.

"Professionally?" she asked icily, cutting him a little. "Never."

"Why are you doubting me now?"

She moved her lips.

"I'm not," she said quietly. "I trust your gut. I have to establish a working relationship with these people," she implored him. "You have to prove that Haswari did this! I cannot take that office and then let you run loose because I'm sighing after you like a lovesick animal!"

"You'd rather act like everything is normal and put our daughter in danger?" he asked harshly. "He'll use her against us, Jen. He'll use her to get to me. Does that change your mind at all? Do you give a damn about—"

He barely saw her hand move.

She slapped him; she slapped him hard enough to snap his head to the side and to make black spots explode in his vision. He swore, and she drew her hand back, holding it against her chest, her lips pressed together tightly.

"Don't you dare—don't you ever—" her voice was shaking. "I lived without her for two years so she would be safe with you and you think I would—"

He stepped forward and took her hands, his cheek still stinging harshly from the burn of her slap. He shook his head back and forth, already sharply regretting his rash words. He pulled her closer to him, almost dragging her up the steps.

"I'm sorry," he apologized gruffly. "I know you'd never do anything to hurt her."

She nodded rapidly, her eyes filling with tears.

"I am just as scared as you are, Jethro," she said hoarsely. "I don't have your luxury of revenge."

He nodded again, leaning closer. He pressed his lips to hers gently, his forehead resting against hers. She sensed how upset he really was over his agent's death, and she put her arms around his shoulders, hugging him, and breathing out slowly.

"Who're you going to side with, Jen?" he asked, needing to know the answer. "Them, or me?"

She squeezed his shoulders.

"Give me a tough question," she said huskily.

He pulled back and gestured that she should go past him up the stairs, but as she walked he seemed to think twice. He took her hand and yanked her back, holding her close and pushing her up against the wall on the landing of the basement stairs. His lips fell to her throat, his hands to her waist, and he breathed her in, the desire fighting its way through everything else. He wasn't caught off guard by it; it always did used to be like this in Paris—hours spent in bed with each other after truly horrifying days on the job.

She grasped the lapels of his jacket, turning her lips against his cheek. She closed her eyes; he felt her lashes brush his skin.

"Jethro," she murmured.

His hands swept lower, playing with the edges of her skirt, and then he started to tug it upwards, pads of his fingers brushing the skin on the inside of her thighs. She gasped, tilting her head back, and ran her hands around the back of his neck, pulling his head up. She kissed him, stopped to take a breath, and found his eyes with hers.

"Right now?" she asked uncertainly. "Here—?"

"Yes," he answered bluntly, pressing her back more insistently.

She let her head fall to his shoulder and bit down, her lipstick smearing off onto his polo.

* * *

><p>In the elevator on their way back to the bullpen he flicked the emergency stop, and she couldn't resist rolling her eyes. She should have known there was no way they could get from his house back to the Navy Yard without him pulling some sort of half-cocked elevator stunt. If he was going to try to convince her one more time that she should give him free reign to go kill Ari, he was out of luck; her mind was made up.<p>

He didn't start talking right away, and she took a moment to check her appearance in the silvery doors of the inside of the elevator. Jethro had torn her hair down in the basement, and naturally he hadn't had any hair spray for her to fix it, so she had just left it down. Her lipstick was reapplied, and her eye-make up was intact—mostly. She squinted; there might be a smudge just below her left eye.

"Jen," he said quietly.

She stepped back from the doors and turned to him. She raised her eyebrows, indicating she was listening.

"The minute Madeleine sees you," Gibbs started. He paused delicately, and then shrugged. "She's going to blow it wide open."

"Our relationship?"

"Well, she's gonna call you Mom," Gibbs pointed out bluntly. "And she's gonna be excited and relieved and I don't think she could take it if we tried to make her keep quiet. She's been askin' for you," he said.

Jenny smiled a little sadly.

"Has she?" she asked earnestly. She pressed her lips together and lifted her shoulders. "There is no point in keeping this a secret now, Jethro," she sighed logically. "I work here. We can't expect a five-year-old to participate in our mind games and frankly, I don't care to ask her to."

Jenny ran her hand through her hair, combing it around her face to ensure it was presentable. She rubbed her lips together, glancing away from him for a minute. He let there be silence for a split second before he ventured an opinion.

"You're okay with my team knowing?" he asked skeptically.

"Isn't it better that we get it out now rather than skulk around like we're ashamed of it?" she asked boldly. "I don't deny that this work _situation_ will be difficult, but that doesn't mean I'm apologizing for whom I've slept with," she remarked shortly. "We'll find a way to make it work. If any agent takes issue with it, they'll be told quickly that if SecNav and Morrow saw no reason to bar me from this position, they sure as hell do not."

Gibbs considered her for a moment and then smirked proudly.

"How do you want to handle it?" he asked.

Jenny gave him a mock concerned look.

"You mean your team hasn't yet received my written announcements? Damn, and I used calligraphy and hired trumpeters and dancing bears—"

"Jen."

She laughed lightly. She cocked her head at him.

"Do you remember when Madeleine was little, and she would fall and hit her head?" He nodded. "And we would brush it off, without making a big deal of it, so she wouldn't cry and beg for attention?" He nodded again.

Jenny reached past him, her eyes meeting his through his lashes.

"_That's_ how we handle your team."

* * *

><p>"Ziva should be here," Jenny remarked, as they left the elevator and found their way back to the bullpen.<p>

"She's probably harassing DiNozzo within an inch of his sanity," Gibbs growled, trailing off as they entered and found no sign of the Israeli.

DiNozzo perked up from his desk, though, looking elated. He reminded Gibbs of Oz when he thought he was going to get a bit of steak bone off of Madeleine's plate after dinner, and the curious, twitchy look in DiNozzo's eyes only got bigger when he noticed Jenny in her red rain coat, expensive umbrella, and scarf. He went strangely silent as he watched them walk to Gibbs' desk, and then bounded over, taking Gibbs arm and pulling him a little to the side.

"Who's yours?" he asked.

"Mine?" Gibbs retorted.

"Yeah, I've got a strange woman, too," DiNozzo answered, gesturing about.

"You first," Gibbs said pointedly.

"Ziva David," Jenny spoke up, bored. She raised an eyebrow at DiNozzo when he seemed shocked she'd heard his furtive whispers. She inclined her head. "Yours," she said. "Here to stop you from whacking Ari Haswari."

Gibbs jerked his head at the redhead.

"Director Jenny Shepard. Same mission," he said a little sardonically.

"Which agency?" DiNozzo asked, his eyes running over Shepard curiously.

"Ours," Gibbs said bluntly.

DiNozzo's eyes widened. He grinned a little, as if he didn't believe it, and then he leaned back, mouth falling open. He made little sniffing noises and then he really did remind Gibbs of Oz.

"Yeah?" he asked, putting his hands at his hips and turning to look at Jenny.

She lifted her eyes to the ceiling and bit the inside of her cheek.

"Yes," she said tensely. "I really am the new NCIS Director."

DiNozzo gave her a winning smirk.

"Wow," he whispered, at which point Gibbs promptly reached out and slapped him in the back of the head.

DiNozzo squeaked.

"Glad to have you back, Boss!" he said, and then turned to face him, holding his hand out. He hesitated, and then ploughed forward—he'd decided while the Boss was gone he was going to trick him into finally telling him some answers about Emmy. "Madeleine's mom is here."

He had no idea if he was right, but he was determined to wheedle some information out of Gibbs—at least shock or embarrass him into admitting that there was definitely something going on here.

Gibbs stared at him sharply.

"What?" he asked, pointedly not looking at Jen as she stood right next to DiNozzo. He didn't think DiNozzo could have spent the time he was supposed to be looking for Kate's killer ferreting out the truth—

DiNozzo gestured at Jenny.

"Ziva David. Dark haired broad. Surly? Israeli? Matching necklace?

Jenny laughed outright, and DiNozzo looked at her warily.

Gibbs glared.

"She's _not_ Madeleine's mother," he growled.

Something like a mixture of relief and disappointment washed over DiNozzo's face.

"That's good, Boss. I hoped you didn't like 'em that young, but, uh, maybe I shouldn't let Miss David take her to the restroom—"

"I told you not to let her out of your sight!"

"Well!" squawked Tony. "They were speaking the same language, and I couldn't understand her but she started _crying_ when I told her she couldn't let David take her," he protested, looking panicked.

Jenny held her hand up.

"Ziva acquiesced to taking her?" she asked, surprised. Her eyebrows rose.

Tony whirled around. He stared Jenny in the face and pointed at her abruptly.

"It's _you_ isn't it?" he demanded. He snapped. "Redhead," he declared loudly, and was sure he was about to receive another killer slap to the head—and Gibbs was in mid-swing, but before he could bring down the wrath of his palm on DiNozzo's skull, Madeleine came around the corner holding Ziva's hand tightly.

"Daddy, Ziva is here," Madeleine announced, yawning.

She covered her mouth, and Gibbs stepped back. He pointed.

"Look," he said simply.

Madeleine looked. She blinked at few times and stood closer to Ziva, uncertain. Then, she ran forward, pushing DiNozzo—as hard as a Kindergartener could push a grown man—out of her way.

"Mommy," she cried, much more weakly than Gibbs had expected her to.

Jenny went down on one knee to catch her, and Madeleine buried her face in Jenny's shoulder and started to cry. Jenny looked startled and upset by it, obviously having expected a little more smiles and enthusiasm. Gibbs motioned for DiNozzo to move out of the way and stepped closer, waving his hand at Jen.

"She's upset," he said quietly, lowering his voice. "She misses Kate."

Madeleine lifted her head and touched Jenny's cheek gently.

"Mommy," she asked softly. "Can you fix Kate? You're the last person I can ask."

Jenny bit her lip. She pressed her forehead to her daughter's.

"No, ahuva," she murmured quietly. "I can't fix Kate."

Madeleine rested her body against Jen, going limp in her arms, and she bit her lip, just holding on as tightly as she could.

"I asked Daddy for you," she said. "He got you."

Jenny nodded. She stood up. She stroked Madeleine's hair and rubbed her back, and Ziva strolled up to her. She pressed a cool kiss to her old partner's cheek.

"Shalom, Jen," she greeted. "Did I miss the operation?" she asked.

Jenny nodded.

"Target confirmed," she said lightly, shifting her weight to better hold on to Madeleine.

DiNozzo looked about rapidly, a thousand questions bubbling to his lips. He started to ask one, but then quailed when he saw the look on Gibbs' face. Gibbs, annoyed that DiNozzo had dared think he'd been fooling around with someone as young as Ziva—someone very nearly Kelly's age, if a few years older, decided to sic the very formidable Mossad officer on him.

He nodded curtly at DiNozzo, his eyes on Ziva's.

"He thought you were Madeleine's mother."

Ziva whirled on him violently, her dark eyes narrowing.

"Does it look to you as if I have ever born a child?" she hissed.

Gibbs stepped closer to Jen, leading her off to the side a little so they could both soothe Madeleine somewhat. He was glad she was too busy tending to the little girl to hear Ziva's remark, because she'd no doubt take it as some sort of insult to her figure.

DiNozzo let out another squeal of dismay, and Gibbs shook his head, dryly imagining how conflicted DiNozzo must be feeling, considering he was supposed to be heartbroken over Kate's death and yet here he was, terrified of Ziva David and about to wet himself with glee over Jenny.

* * *

><p>Gibbs disappeared down the hall, leaving DiNozzo alone for a moment in the bullpen with the new Director—and Madeleine's mother—and the crazy Mossad chick. Ziva excused herself to take a phone call over by the window, and though DiNozzo found that suspicious, he found it much more interesting to lurk around Kate's desk.<p>

Gibbs' woman was currently sitting at it with Madeleine in her lap. They were speaking Hebrew, and Madeleine was playing with the edges of her hair. DiNozzo decided now was not the time to point out that he'd definitely noticed that her hair had been up when she left with Gibbs, and Gibbs had not had lipstick on his collar an hour and a half ago.

He settled for silently gloating over it to the memory of Kate.

_It totally was a nooner,_ he thought smugly.

He lurked near Gibbs' desk, and then he lurked a little closer, until the redhead looked up and glared at him narrowly over Madeleine's head.

"May I help you?" she asked tightly.

Caught off guard, he fumbled for something to say. And he accidentally introduced himself the wrong way.

"I'm Pony DiNozzo," he said and then winced. Madeleine whipped around and giggled quietly, the first real sign of amusement he'd seen in her since before Kate died.

"Pony," she said quietly, as if chastising him. She turned back to her mother. "His name is Tony," she said solemnly. "He liked Kate."

"She was my partner," DiNozzo said quickly, trying to avoid another sticky situation like the one he'd gotten himself into with Ziva David. "It was platonic. Friendly, totally cool."

The redhead cocked her head and glared at him silently, and DiNozzo grinned uncomfortably. He was beginning to understand why Gibbs liked this woman, if she was so adept at the same stare-and-scare that he was.

"Ima," Madeleine said quietly. "Pony loves me."

"I know who Agent DiNozzo is, Madeleine," Jenny Shepard said calmly. "Your father talks of him often."

"He does?" Tony perked up brightly. "Really? He never talks about you, Shepard. Director. Ma'am? Mrs. Gibbs-?"

"We aren't married," she remarked mildly.

Madeleine shook her head. She tapped Jenny's shoulder.

"Pony says Kate doesn't like sex," she said bluntly.

Jenny lifted an eyebrow. DiNozzo turned bright red.

"Is there a particular reason you shared that with a five-year-old?" she asked coolly.

"It was—I didn't—she misunderstood—she's," he broke off, and pointed violently at Ziva as she came back in, looking disturbed. "It was _her_ fault!" he accused.

Ziva's face darkened again, and she rounded on DiNozzo—Jenny didn't stop her; harassing this poor young man was the most fun she'd had in months, probably. Madeleine looked with interest as Ziva backed DiNozzo into a corner by his desk, and Jenny stroked her hair.

"What is sex?" Madeleine asked Jenny. She sounded bored and unconcerned.

Jenny tilted her head simply.

"Ask your father," she said quietly. She smirked.

"That is what I advised her to do, as well," Ziva piped up, leaving DiNozzo in a trembling heap in his desk chair.

She shared an impish sort of amused look with Jenny.

"I can't," Madeleine said.

"You can't what?" Jenny asked, immediately turning back to her.

Madeleine looked at her with big, watery green eyes.

"I can't ask Daddy things," she said. "Daddy is sad," she whimpered. "Abby is sad and Pony is sad and Timmy is sad but Daddy is saddest because he can't fix Kate and I can't bother him. He's sad," she repeated earnestly.

This time, Jenny avoided Ziva's eyes, because the thought of looking at the woman who was responsible for her forcing Jethro to prove Haswari's guilt rather than her letting him blindly kill him was too much when she was holding her distraught, heartbroken daughter in her lap.

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to Madeleine's forehead and then touched her cheek to the little girl's temple.

"I know he's sad," she said quietly, in Hebrew. "I'll help him feel better, baby, I promise. You too," she added, closing her eyes for a moment. "I'll help you feel better, too."

DiNozzo stood, and was leaning forward to offer a word of comfort, when Gibbs came barreling back in with a snack from the vending machine. He crouched down by Jenny's legs and handed off the bag of chips and the soda to Madeleine, spoiling her a little with the unhealthy treats.

"Ziva," he said coolly, helping Madeleine to open the bag and the top of the soft drink. "Whose get cut off if he's a Hamas terrorist instead of an Al-Qaeda mole?"

"Mine, I suppose," she answered firmly, tucking her satellite phone into her backpack. "I am his control officer."

"Ah," Gibbs sneered. "I forget they promote control officers young in Mossad."

Jenny muttered something that might have been a warning under her breath, and Gibbs took Madeleine, sitting her on Kate's desk. She crossed her legs and began to munch on the food, thanking Gibbs quietly. Jenny was impressed he had sensed she was hungry and she stood up, resting her palms on Madeleine's shoulders protectively while she mediated the exchange that was to come.

"All the good ones are dead by your age, Jethro," Ziva retorted.

Gibbs heard the annoyed noise DiNozzo made at her use of his first name.

"Do you know how I located his terrorist cell?" Gibbs asked sharply.

"GPS fix off his encrypted cell phone," Ziva answered smoothly, turning to face Gibbs defiantly. "He wanted you to know the terrorists' location so you could stop the missile instead of him, which would have necessitated blowing his cover."

"Only NSA satellites can GPS an encrypted phone. He didn't know I had that asset."

Jenny turned her eyes to Ziva, watching her reaction closely. Ziva remained cool.

She laughed quietly.

"You give him less credit than he gives you," she remarked. "Who hung up first?" she challenged. "You or him?"

Silently, Gibbs remembered the way he had cut Ari off before the call had been complete, keeping him online just long enough for a fix on the signal. Ziva smirked triumphantly.

"Ari knows a fix takes only nineteen seconds," she said, for a moment not noticing that both Gibbs and DiNozzo reacted violently to the use of her brother's name. Madeleine turned around. "When Sharon visited Bush, Ari's Hamas cell kidnapped Agent Todd. Why didn't he kill her instead of freeing her to warn the Secret Service—"

"I don't know," Gibbs interrupted in a growl, leaning into Ziva's face. He hoped to God Madeleine didn't pick up on the implications. He didn't think he could deal with that right now. "Why don't you arrange a meet, and he can tell me?" Gibbs threatened.

"Ari Haswari is a Mossad operative undercover in Hamas," snapped Ziva. "He hasn't turned on us or you!" she said violently.

"Ziva," Madeleine said quietly.

Ziva's eyes flashed; she composed her face before she turned around.

"Yes?" she asked tightly.

Madeleine held the bottle of Sprite Gibbs had given her uncertainly.

"Ari hurt Daddy," she said. "He hurt Gerald. He made me stay with him. Is he still in time out?"

Ziva didn't know what to say, but the pleasure she sensed Gibbs took in his daughter's hard questions enraged her, and she couldn't for a moment keep her cool.

"He is not," she said curtly.

"Is he here to hurt Daddy?" she asked fearfully.

"He is not here to hurt your Aba, nor did he kill Agent Todd!" barked Ziva.

"Ziva!" shouted Gibbs, warning her.

Jenny looked startled, and Madeleine dropped her bottle.

"Aba," she whined uncertainly. "Aba, no, no. Ari killed Kate? Ari killed Kate?" she demanded, her face turning pale.

Ziva's face changed.

"She did not know?" she asked.

"She didn't _know_?" Jenny repeated, starting forward.

Madeleine let out a shriek and shook her head rapidly.

"I don't understand!" she cried.

DiNozzo tried to step in, but Jenny nearly bit his head off.

"I'll take care of it," Jenny said coldly, holding her hand out to keep him back. She swept up Madeleine and her snack deftly, holding her close. She pressed the child's head into her shoulder, giving Gibbs a harsh, meaningful look. His face was haggard and tired, and she felt that same exhaustion when his eyes met hers. "I'm taking her to my office," Jenny said carefully.

"She doesn't need to know, Jen," Gibbs said in a low voice.

Jenny said nothing. She had to do what she could to ease Madeleine's pain and confusion, and help her to understand. She nodded at Ziva.

"Even if you're right, Gibbs," she said, speaking of Ziva and Ari. "We owe them proof," she reminded him curtly. "Ziva, no action will be taken unless we have evidentiary proof. Assure your Director of that." Jenny turned to Gibbs sharply. "Proof before action, Jethro," she ordered.

The look he gave her was poisonous.

She left, walking quickly on her heels, and holding Madeleine securely on her hip. She had gone from focusing on one job, alone, in the impersonal halls of her Middle Eastern assignment, to juggling all at once, in close quarters, three jobs: mother, lover—Director.

It seemed to her that it was impossible to be successful at them all.

* * *

><p>Gibbs dragged DiNozzo into the elevator, effectively separating him from Ziva and gaining a moment alone with the frazzled agent.<p>

"Boss," DiNozzo gasped the moment the elevator doors shut. "Is that the girl—didn't Madeleine say I should marry her once? Ziva, right?" he laughed, a wild look in his eyes. "I think she's a witch, Gibbs. She knew things about me—she looks at me like Hannibal Lector looks at Clarisse—"

He received a slap to the back of the head and quieted. Gibbs got close to his face.

"I want you on Ziva's ass," he growled.

"Not really my type, Boss," DiNozzo retorted immediately.

Gibbs raised his palm, DiNozzo flinched, and he refrained from hitting him.

"She's in contact with Ari," Gibbs said curtly. "It's the only way she knew I hung up on him."

"Ohh. Uh, I don't want you to get pissed, but, uh—"

"I thought you wanted me pissed."

"I did. Uh, it was kinda weird when you were being nice, but uh…not that you're not nice, uh—"

"Will you spit it out, DiNozzo?" barked Gibbs.

"What if Ziva is right, and Ari knew you'd trace the call?" DiNozzo ventured uncertainly. "Maybe he wasn't the sniper."

Tony winced.

"She is right," Gibbs said heavily. He looked away. "Ari wanted me to raid the warehouse. He set me up, and it cost Kate her life," he muttered, his tone ridden with guilt.

DiNozzo leaned forward as the elevator doors opened, and Gibbs bolted off for Abby's lab. He stretched his arms out to hold the doors.

"Is he a mole or a terrorist?" he asked.

"Whatever works to play his game!" Gibbs snapped, turning around sharply.

"If Ziva leads me to Ari?" DiNozzo asked.

"Shadow 'im. Call me."

"So you can bring him in?"

Gibbs looked at DiNozzo silently.

"Yeah," he drawled pointedly. "So I can _bring him in_." The words _to autopsy_ were unspoken in the air.

DiNozzo still hesitated, standing there with the doors open. The elevator buzzed at him in annoyance for holding it up, and Gibbs rolled his eyes impatiently.

"What?" he demanded.

"So…you and the new Director," he said.

Gibbs glared at him. DiNozzo's brows went up.

"Really?" he prodded.

Gibbs glared at him harder.

"You tryin' to say somethin', DiNozzo?"

DiNozzo shrugged.

"No, nothin', Boss. Just uh, hope you like your women on top."

* * *

><p>Jenny locked the door of the Director's office behind her and looked around at the barren room that would be her NCIS home for an unspecified amount of time. She was still forcing herself to think of it as her office and not Morrow's, and that was even harder now that she was leaning against the door and remembering that the last time she'd stood here, she had been receiving orders to go to Paris with Gibbs.<p>

She clutched Madeleine tightly.

The office was exactly as it had been, save it was emptier, and the portraits Morrow had hung were gone. It was her place to decorate as she wished now, and she already knew she wanted women on the walls—historic women, infamous women, good women. Women Madeleine could look up to as she grew up.

There was still a neat couch in the corner, off to the side of the conference table, against the wall, and that was where she went. She sat down and leaned back, shifting and cradling Madeleine against her breasts gently. She pulled the little girl's hair back soothingly and looked down at her pale, wet face. Madeleine looked up at her through damp eyelashes with red, swollen eyes and coughed, obviously tired, clearly distraught, and altogether unhappy.

"Oh, baby," she murmured softly, wiping some of the tears with her thumb. "I am so sorry you're hurting."

Madeleine rested her head against Jenny. She reached over and pressed her hand to Jenny's shirt, clinging to the lapel of her blazer.

"Madeleine," Jenny said quietly. "Madeleine, do you have any questions?" she probed gently, well aware that her little mind was probably in tumult.

She hadn't known that Jethro was keeping the identity of Kate's killer a secret, and for a moment she had been enraged that he would keep her in the dark, but after a moment she had understood that it was too much for a five-year-old to deal with. She wasn't even sure how Madeleine felt about Ari since the autopsy incident.

Madeleine nodded her head slowly.

"What do you want to know?" Jenny asked calmly.

"Ziva thinks Ari killed Kate?"

"No," Jenny corrected quietly. "Ziva wants Ari to be innocent," Jenny paused. "Your daddy thinks Ari killed Kate."

Madeleine was quiet for a long time.

"Did he?" she asked. "He hurt Daddy," she added earnestly. "Kate was protecting Daddy."

Jenny cupped Madeleine's face in her hand.

"Things are very uncertain right now," she said quietly. She lowered her head, searching Madeleine's little face. "I know it's scary to think about," she said hoarsely, "but I think Daddy is right on this one," she paused briefly. "Ari is not a good man, Madeleine."

Madeleine's face crumpled. She sniffled, tears falling out of her eyes.

"Daddy is always right," she mumbled, bringing a smile to Jenny's lips. "Daddy never liked him. Never," she reminded Jenny. She started to cry heavily again, stammering through her tears. "But Kate never hurt him? But why, Mama?"

Jenny pulled her fingers softly through Madeleine's hair, shaking her head forlornly.

"Some people are just _bad_, Madeleine," she said hollowly. "They are just unhappy and cruel. Life has gone badly for them, and they want to make innocent, more fortunate people hurt instead of trying to eliminate the pain they suffered."

"Was Ari ever happy?" Madeleine asked.

"Maybe," Jenny said earnestly. "When he was a little boy, before the world was mean to him. When he had his mother to soothe him and Tali to make him smile." Jenny moved her lips uncertainly, pressing her hand to Madeleine's cheek again. "There's so much more to it, Madeleine, and you're so little. You might not understand. It's okay."

Madeleine looked at her placidly, tears still rolling down her cheeks.

"Mommy," she asked timidly. "Will the world be mean to me someday?"

Jenny felt like the breath had been knocked out of her. She pressed her lips together hard and tilted her head up, asking silently for strength.

"The world is mean to all of us," she said finally, her voice cracking. She slowly looked back at her daughter. "There are too many people for everything that happens to be good for everyone. But even when it's mean, we have to try to be good," Jenny said earnestly.

She thought of the poison she'd had in her blood for years, the lust for revenge, and how she'd ached to kill Rene Benoit like he'd killed her father, only for Madeleine to make her realize that if she did, she would be killing another woman's father, a woman who might not know what a monster he was. She could have been like Ari, blinded by hatred. She had made a different choice.

"I was always good to Ari," Madeleine said suddenly. "I was sweet to him."

Jenny didn't know how to explain evil to a Kindergartner. She smiled sadly and nodded her head.

"You were," she agreed. "He'll always remember that, ahuva," she said earnestly. "People are very complicated," she said desperately.

"I thought Ari loved me. Like Tali did."

"He might have," Jenny said softly. "Love and hate are very powerful things, Madeleine. They're made of the same stuff."

"What are they made of?" Madeleine muttered.

"Passion," Jenny answered quietly. "Passion is like fire."

"Fire. Ouch," Madeleine said quietly.

Jenny nodded. She sat up and began working little braids into Madeleine's hair; she knew Madeleine liked it when she did that. Madeleine tilted her head back, leaning into the ministrations, and she blinked her green eyes a few times. Jenny managed to smile at her comfortingly.

"Is Ari going to hurt me?" she asked curiously.

"No," Jenny said calmly. "Ari will not hurt you. Your father and I will not allow it."

"I'm scared. And I don't want Kate to be dead."

Jenny paused, bending down again to brush her cheek against Madeleine's. She sighed heavily, pressing a gentle kiss to the little girl's nose before she sat back up and looked at her sadly.

"Mommy wishes she could make it better, sweetheart," she said sincerely. "I know I can't fix Kate for you, but is there anything I can do right now that will help your heart?"

Madeleine thought on it quietly, sitting still while Jenny deftly braided.

"I want Oz to come to NCIS," she said heavily, her sentence hanging a little as if it were unfinished. She closed her eyes. "I want you to stay forever," she added weakly.

Jenny stopped braiding. She closed her eyes and smiled—a real, whole smile—because for once, she could really be the one to make Madeleine's day. She moved Madeleine off her lap and got onto the floor, kneeling down eye-level with her daughter. She took the five-year-old's small hands in hers and squeezed them tightly.

"I _am_ staying forever," she said firmly. "I am not leaving. I am coming home to you and Daddy, and I am not going back to Israel or Cairo or anywhere else."

Madeleine shot forward, her eyes going back and forth rapidly over Jenny's face.

"You promise?"

"I _promise_," Jenny swore, putting a hand over her heart fiercely. She decided right then and there that if plans changed, and they wanted her back in L.A. and Leon Vance sequestered in this office, she'd leave NCIS. She'd stay here. This move to the Director's chair was the last time she'd make a decision without involving Jethro and Madeleine as fully as they deserved to be involved.

Madeleine gave a cry and flung herself against Jenny, hugging her tightly.

"Daddy's going to be so happy, Ima!" she squealed.

She was so selfless; so wonderful. Jenny had missed her so much. She smiled again and buried her face in her daughter's auburn hair.

* * *

><p>There was no music in Abby's lab, but Gibbs hardly noticed. He was solely focused on the weapons laid out before him.<p>

"The FBI database gave me six weapons who's rifling patterns fit the bullets you recovered. I've been able to eliminate all but three," Abby announced. "Two SWAT weapons, the Tango-51 and the Bravo-51, and this—"

"My old friend," Gibbs interrupted. "A Marine M-40A1 Sniper rifle," he drawled, reaching out to run his hand over it.

He picked it up reverently and placed it on his shoulder as if it were a part of him, his eye matching up perfectly with the scope.

"It—looks sweet the way you hold that, Boss," McGee remarked, awed.

"Sweet?" snapped Gibbs.

"Uh, yeah, it's an expression, it means—"

"Yeah. I know what it means, McGee." Gibbs growled. "You think Ari looked sweet when he shot Kate?"

McGee looked chastised and horrified. His face paled.

"Of course not, Boss," he said hastily.

Abby quickly took up the slack of conversation.

"My vote is for the Tango or Bravo-51," she said, whirling to her computer. She pulled up the ballistics analysis for him to look at. "What do you think, Gibbs?"

"Your test runs show more gouging than Ari's," Gibbs noted astutely. "He was hand-loading and moly-coating."

"Oh, you are so good," Abby said admiringly.

"Moly-coating?" McGee asked.

"Yeah. Molybdenum disulfide. It's a lubricant. It decreases barrel wear and increases accuracy."

"McGee, run a trace on Tango and Bravo sales. Tri-state area. Last three weeks," Gibbs ordered. "Check the Bravo first."

"On it, Boss!" McGee said dutifully.

"Any prints on the brass?" Gibbs asked, strolling back over to Abby.

"No," she said shortly. "Is your gut telling you something?" she demanded.

"Yeah. I need coffee," he muttered, turning to go.

She caught him and dragged him back.

"No!" she barked. "Gibbs, come on. This isn't just another investigation. Todd was your agent, but Kate was my friend." She held up her left hand. "She was my maid of honor, Gibbs. She loved Madeleine like her own. Will you just stop with the John Wayne act—"

"What don't I believe in, Abby?" he interrupted harshly, though he took her hand gently and held it, his fingers grazing the ring apologetically.

"UFOs. Mystics. Coincidences. Saying you're sorry. Excuses—I could go on all night!" Abby said tensely.

"As a Marine sniper, I used hand-loaded Lapua three-oh-eight boat tail full metal jacket moly-coated bullets," Gibbs said tightly, his face close to hers.

"Gibbs," she said softly.

"You know what a sniper calls a Bravo fifty-one?" he asked sharply.

"No," she whispered.

"A Kate," he said.

She felt like he'd slapped her. He turned to go again, but she held on to him.

"How is Maddie?" she asked earnestly.

"She's not very good," Gibbs answered haggardly. "Her mother is here," he ventured, backing away from Abby.

He had a second thought and lunged back at her abruptly.

"Did _you_ know about _that_?" he demanded fiercely.

* * *

><p>Ziva was not stupid enough to believe Gibbs had let her leave NCIS without setting a tail on her, so she was unsurprised when she noticed Agent DiNozzo casually following her. She toyed with the idea of attempting to lose him, but decided against it; she wanted desperately to prove—to herself, and to the world—that she had not grown up with a man who had become a monster, that her brother was good, but she also needed, and fiercely valued, Agent Gibbs' trust.<p>

So she allowed his roguish young agent to follow her, and if the time came for action and he got in her way, she'd either incapacitate him or seduce him—whichever worked better—and deal with whatever consequences she had to take for it.

She felt Ari slipping through her fingers. She was here to extradite him from the country before NCIS could get their hands on him, but his reluctance to leave was clear to her even over the short conversation they had on the phone.

Yes; she was ready to give him his passport at the drop, and her partner Shoshanna was at the Embassaro hotel ready to orchestrate the drop. Yet she had a feeling that he was pushing his limits, taunting Gibbs, and if he baited the wounded bear, there was only so much she could do to save him.

And after so much hostility and uncertainty, and all of the pain Ari had caused her recently, there was only so much trust she could implicitly give before she faced the choice Jenny warned her she would come to, and before she turned her back on a man who may very well have died with Tali two years ago.

* * *

><p>He had been sitting alone at his desk for what felt like hours. Jenny was still up in her office with Madeleine and for some reason he couldn't bear to go up there and interrupt her time with their daughter. It was late, it was raining again, and there were no stars out tonight.<p>

He stared at Kate's chair, and again, it seemed like she was sitting there.

"Reevaluating your convictions?" she challenged coldly, bullet hole shining in her forehead. "How many times did you tell me there's no such thing as a coincidence?" she asked. And then she said, in a very different voice—"Jethro?" and he was confused for a moment, because Kate never called him Jethro, and that sounded like Jen.

He looked up, his eyes narrowing.

Jen was standing there, in her coat, with her umbrella. Madeleine stood at her side. She walked over to his desk and came around to him, leaning on his lap.

"Daddy," she murmured sweetly, resting her cheek on his knee. He automatically put his hand on her head and patted gently.

"I know it's been a difficult day for the both of us," Jenny began diplomatically.

He smiled a little and leaned forward, picking Madeleine up and placing her in his lap.

"That's what my D.I. used to say," he cracked. "Never believed him."

Jenny looked hurt. She came closer anyway, her eyes on Madeleine in his lap. Madeleine looked up at Gibbs.

"Mommy is taking me home," she said softly.

Gibbs started.

"No," he said abruptly. "No, she's not. We're staying here," he said firmly.

"I want to sleep at home," Madeleine insisted. "I want to go with Mommy."

"No," Gibbs growled again. He stood up and hoisted Madeleine on his hip. "Why the hell did you tell her you'd take her home?" he growled, startling Jenny. Madeleine pushed at him and struggled to get down. He set her in his chair and came around the desk, rounding on Jenny.

"She's exhausted, Jethro," Jenny said defiantly. "She needs the comfort of her own bed, her own clothes, some good home-cooked food. I want a few hours of peace with her. I'm not taking her way from you," she added sarcastically. "You can come, too."

"_No_!" Gibbs snarled, repeating himself.

"You sound like a broken record," Jenny snapped. She beckoned him away from the desk a little and lowered her voice. She opened her mouth to argue with him, but he cut her off quickly, shaking is head firmly.

"She doesn't leave this building, Jen," he declared hollowly. "She's protected here. She doesn't go anywhere while she's a target!"

"She's suffocating here!" protested Jenny. "She's scared, and she needs attention. All of this melancholy isn't doing her any good!"

Gibbs rubbed his jaw.

"I want her here, Jenny. I want her safe and untouchable, surrounded by an entire agency. She stays."

"You don't think I can properly care for my daughter—"

"I don't give a damn if you can care for her or not!" he growled harshly. "This isn't about your ability, this is about my _daughter_ and my," he gestured so wildly at her she thought she might laugh at the absurdity, but still he couldn't find a word for her, so he said: "my _director _going off alone to a damned townhouse in the middle of the night with a murderer after them! I don't want the two of you together!"

"Jethro—"

"The last time I left my family alone with someone gunning for them, I never saw them again!"

His voice actually cracked, and she thought it surprised him as much as it surprised her. Her face softened some. She swallowed calmly.

"I am trained and I am armed, Jethro, I can—"

"You think Shannon would be alive if she'd had a gun?" Gibbs barked. "You think my eight year old _daughter_ could have protected herself any better if her mother could shoot straight?"

Jenny blanched.

"That isn't what I meant, Jethro. Please-!"

"A sniper shot the agent protecting them, Jen! A _sniper_!" His eyes flashed coldly. "I should have sent her to Stillwater—to my father—the minute I heard that bastard was back in the country. I didn't. She stays here."

Jenny bit her lip. She propped her umbrella against the desk next to her and stepped forward, taking his shoulders in her hands. She ran her palms over him soothingly, trying to ease the pain in his muscles. Madeleine watched them from his desk uncertainly, her hands hovering near her ears.

"I'll stay here, Daddy," she murmured.

"She'll stay," Jenny echoed quietly. She shook her head and shrugged. "I'm just trying to help her. I thought…a different atmosphere, some time with us, alone," she broke off. "You won't rest until you end this," she realized honestly.

He reached out and touched her neck.

"You stay, Jen," he pleaded under his breath. "Stay."

She laughed.

"And what, sleep with you on the floor behind your desk? I'm not a probie anymore, Jethro," she reminded him sadly. "I'm not your partner anymore. I have to go home. I have to look professional. Establish a foothold, and all that."

"I know," he growled petulantly, rolling his eyes.

"We had this afternoon," she reminded him, lifting an eyebrow.

She coaxed a shadow of a smile out of him. He lifted his head and looked around the empty office—just to ensure it really was empty. Then, he leaned forward and kissed her, his lips lingering long after the kiss was through.

"Stop it," Madeleine groaned, knocking something over on his desk.

Jenny ducked her head against his shoulder and smiled. She stepped back demurely and picked up her umbrella.

"I'll go by your house and pick up the dog," she promised. She walked to Madeleine. "You give me a kiss, sweetie."

Madeleine obeyed, stroking Jenny's cheek.

"Oz likes you," she said earnestly. "Like him back, okay?"

Jenny crinkled her nose.

"Okay," she agreed. "He'll be back with me in the morning."

She took her leave, squeezing Gibbs' hand tightly as she did.

"Jen," he said as she was leaving. "Don't do that interview with CBS," he reminded her.

"I already postponed," she agreed without further adieu.

He smiled. He went and sat on the edge of his desk, looking down at Madeleine with something like relief. She sat back in his chair and yawned, her eyes red, and her face still lacking the light that was usually in it. He did think she needed to be away from the Navy Yard, but what could he do?

It occurred to him—suddenly, and strangely—that he could take her to Ziva. DiNozzo would be nearby, but on top of that, Ziva would never harm Madeleine. Ziva had risked everything so that Madeleine would have her mother. She was good at heart and good down to her soul, and Gibbs knew the one place Ari would never get her would be wherever Ziva was, because he had no doubt that Ziva would shoot Ari before she'd allow Madeleine to be harmed. And, if Ziva took Madeleine, it was a way for Madeleine to get respite and a little peace without having her in the same place as Jenny.

He focused on the Star of David at Madeleine's neck, protecting her with prayer.

"Emmy," he said softly. "You want to go see Ziva for a little bit?" he asked.

Before he could get farther, he heard Jenny greet Ducky in the elevator.

"Jennifer!"

"How nice to see you again!" Jenny said brightly.

Ducky congratulated her, and Jenny asked if he was going home.

Gibbs only had to hear Ducky's stumbling hesitation for it to click that something was wrong. A thousand thoughts crashed together in his head before it became clear that they always should have checked in with Gerald, and made sure Gerald was out of harm's way—that he couldn't be used against him—to exploit Ducky's kind heart and his valor—

The elevator doors were sliding closed as Gibbs jumped up and ran out of the bullpen.

Scared, Madeleine screamed after him.

"Ducky!" he bellowed—but it was too late.

He slammed his fist against the tightly closed metal door.

* * *

><p>He called Ducky at least ten times with no answer before he demanded Abby and McGee's presence in the bullpen. He assigned Abby the task of consoling Madeleine while he dialed Ducky's number again.<p>

"I said no one was to leave the building!" Gibbs shouted into the voicemail.

"Ducky, please call us," Abby started, talking over him.

"NO ONE INCLUDES YOU, DR. MALLARD!" Gibbs roared.

"We're all worried, including Gibbs-!" Abby tried to soften the message, but Gibbs had already slammed his hand down, hanging up. "Gibbs, it's not Ducky's fault!" she protested. "He probably did Kate's autopsy on autopilot and then just drove himself home the same way!"

Madeleine was back in Kate's chair, curled up and watching it all. The activity and the tenseness had upset her again, and she kept whining quietly. Gibbs berated himself mentally for it—perhaps he should have let Jenny take her home; perhaps he should take her to see Ziva _now_ rather than later.

"Boss!" McGee called from his desk. "An outside call came into autopsy twenty-three minutes ago. Tracing the number," he said, his fingers flying over his keyboard.

Gibbs stormed over to him and leaned down to watch, eyes scanning. McGee pulled up the results and his eyes widened in surprise.

"Boss, that call came from Gerald Jackson's cell phone!"

"I almost forgot about Gerald," Abby remarked.

"Is Gerald okay?" Madeleine asked.

"He is just fine, sweetie," Abby answered with confidence.

"He's been in rehab for a year," McGee said.

"Maybe," Abby ventured, "he heard about Kate, and he called Ducky!"

"They're in a pub somewhere consoling each other!" McGee added hopefully.

"Yes!"

"I don't like it," snapped Gibbs.

"Why not?" Abby demanded.

"I don't need a reason why," he growled back. He shoved his hand against McGee's shoulder. "Call Ducky again," he ordered. "Then call Gerald."

McGee complied, and on speaker the phone rang incessantly.

"I'm getting voicemail," he said dully.

"They probably can't hear their phones because they're in a pub!" Abby tried again.

"Put a GPS track on their phones," Gibbs said.

McGee set to work, brought a map up on screen, and pinpointed the cell phones' location.

"Georgetown," Gibbs muttered, his heart stopping for a second.

He turned his head to look at Madeleine. He was beyond grateful he hadn't let her go home with Jenny, if Ari was in Georgetown.

He muttered the address to himself.

"I know that street," he growled. "It's mostly residential."

It was the street right behind Jen's.

"Locate _Ducky's_ cell!" he growled, still staring at Gerald's. That pinpoint popped up right on top of Gerald's, and Abby sighed in relief.

"See? They're together!"

"There's no pub there," growled Gibbs.

"Well, maybe Gerald lives there?"

"No, he lives on Peabody," McGee said.

"So they're parked. They're talking!" Abby was desperate to find some other explanation.

Gibbs was busy getting his gun from his desk and attaching it to his hip holster. McGee scrambled up.

"Want me to go with you, Boss?" he asked earnestly.

"No, Tony's already out. You stay here with Abby. You protect Madeleine," Gibbs answered sharply. He bent down to kiss the little girl goodbye and squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. She would be safer here than anywhere else, that much was true for now. He would see about taking her to Ziva when he got a report from DiNozzo.

He charged from the bullpen, and he left them all standing there, surprised. Madeleine crossed her arms.

"I want to go home with my mom," she growled.

Abby turned fiercely to McGee.

"For nobody leaving the building, there are a lot of people leaving the building!"

* * *

><p>Gibbs sped through the pouring rain to the designated street in Georgetown, fighting tightness in his chest. He parked haphazardly and was damn near out of the car before he had turned it off. He whirled around on the street, sharp eyes searching for any sign.<p>

"McGee," he shouted into the phone at his ear. "Triangulate my cell!"

"Okay," McGee confirmed a moment later. "You're right on top of them."

Gibbs could have strangled him.

"Dammit, McGee, they are not here!" he bellowed over the rain.

"They have to be, Boss," McGee's voice crackled over the connection. Abby asked if there was a pub, and he shouted her down, annoyed with her incessant need to think nothing was amiss. He heard the hurt in her voice when she answered, and apologized.

Gibbs wrenched a flashlight out of his belt.

"How accurate is this fix, McGee?" he demanded.

"Within twenty-five meters," the agent answered.

Gibbs hung up the phone and shoved it in his pocket, focusing on the flashlight. He took it into a grassy knoll on the other side of the street, searching frantically for a sign—for anything—and then he saw something; an aluminum can, littered on the grass. He picked it up—there was a bullet hole in it.

His heart stopped, and suddenly Kate was standing behind him, taunting him from the grave.

"It's going to happen again, isn't it?" she provoked. "Ducky's gonna take a bullet for you."

Gibbs looked around with wide eyes.

"He won't kill Ducky," he said quietly.

"Why not? Because you couldn't live with the guilt?" Kate demanded. "Maybe Ari knows that. Maybe that's his plan. Maybe the only way to save Ducky, Abby, and McGee—and Madeleine, and Jenny," she paused, "_is to kill yourself_," she hissed into the rain.

He took a deep, shuddering breath.

It wouldn't come to that. It _couldn't_. Madeleine _needed_ him. It had to be Ari who took the bullets, not him.

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Ducky's number again. The Scottish national anthem began to play loudly—from somewhere behind him—and so he ran over, falling to his knees and picking up the soaking wet device. Gerald's was right next to it. A moment later, Gibbs was back on the phone with McGee.

"Found Ducky's cell phone in the park," he said.

"Why would they leave their cell phones in the park?" McGee asked dumbly.

"They wouldn't, McGee!"

"Do you want me to come down there?" he offered.

"If I wanted you to come down here, I would have told you so," Gibbs snapped back. "Put a BOLO out on Ducky's Morgan. Pull his license plate from his file."

"Gibbs," Abby spoke up earnestly, her voice muffled on the speaker. "Ari has Gerald. And Ducky," she said quietly.

"They're not dead, Abs."

"How do you know?" she asked uncertainly.

"Because," Gibbs answered heavily. "Ari dumped their cell phones in the park, not their bodies."

"Boss!" McGee cried suddenly. "Gerald's here."

"Gerald!" Madeleine cried suddenly. "Gerald, your arm is better?" she asked.

"Ari's got Dr. Mallard!" came Gerald's voice.

"How did you get away?" Gibbs asked violently, getting back in his car and revving it up.

"I didn't," Gerald said grudgingly. "Ari let me go."

Gibbs swallowed, unable to figure out what the hell that move would mean on Ari's part. He put his hand on the wheel and sped off—with Madeleine safe at NCIS and both of his agents deployed on assignment to bring this case to a close, he needed back up to hunt down Ari, and he knew exactly the woman for the job.

* * *

><p>DiNozzo had been watching Ziva David swim back and forth and back and forth in the hotel pool for about an hour when a sharp voice interrupted him.<p>

"Excuse me."

He turned around abruptly to face a beautiful young woman wearing a velour matching sweat suit.

"May I?" she asked, pointing at the door to the indoor pool.

He considered her for a moment, and then noticed a Star of David necklace at her throat—but hers was thick, and silver, not thin and golden like Madeleine's and Ziva's were. He smiled slightly and opened the door for her.

"You certainly may," he said gallantly.

After another moment of watching, he called Gibbs.

"I know you don't believe in coincidences, Gibbs, and this lady just showed up to swim with Ziva. She's got a star necklace, too."

"I don't believe in coincidences!" Gibbs growled.

"That's what I just said!" Tony snapped.

"What?"

"I said the reception sucks!" Tony corrected, inching away from the door and opening his phone's antenna.

"Stay with them!" Gibbs said. "I'm on my way."

"What if they split up?" Tony asked.

"What about your gut?"

Tony rolled his eyes, holding his phone away from his mouth in annoyance.

"It wants a pizza!" he shouted sarcastically, before hanging up and slinking back to watch Ziva swim.

He watched as she lifted herself gracefully out of the pool and left it to the other girl who had come in. For a second, DiNozzo was mesmerized by the killer bathing suit bodies these Mossad women seemed to have—he wondered if Kate looked that damn near amazing half-naked.

And then he slowly crept up with his cell phone and snapped some pictures.

He darted out of the way to hide while Ziva left, and when he went back, the other woman was taking her robe and pulling it on—and he noticed they had switched robes. They must be making a drop.

He threw caution to the wind and jogged into the room, stealing over to the robes to ferret around and find out what was in there. He got a good enough glance at the passport, wad of cash, and papers tucked in the pocket before he was spotted.

"Hey!" barked her strong voice from behind him. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Going for a swim," he said automatically, without even thinking.

He began stripping off his clothes as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"There's a locker room," she said skeptically, when he started to undo his belt.

"Oh, I'm fine," Tony drawled, dropping his pants casually. He whipped his shirt of, standing there loud and proud in his underwear.

"Where's your swimsuit?" Pretty Israeli Lady asked, hopping out of the pool and sauntering towards him in the same provocative way Ziva walked. Tony eyed her appreciatively and gave her a dashing grin.

"Don't have one!"

"I should call security," she groused at him, taking the robe and draping it over herself.

"You didn't see the sign," Tony snickered.

"What sign?"

"I must've been blocking it. Remember, I was waiting outside, and you wanted to come in?"

"Oh, I remember."

"Hackensack Nudist Society, from ten twenty-seven to eleven fifty-one, the pool is ours," he announced proudly.

The woman looked utterly amused.

"And, uh, it's our third annual convention," he rambled, still keeping his confidence. Two people entered the room, and he loudly welcomed them. "And here's Agnes and Agnew right now. Ah, he's our president, and Agnes is our social secretary," Tony flashed another grin. "Hi guys. They look funny with clothes on," he confided to Israeli chick.

She laughed softly.

"Inventive. Funny, even. But," she paused. "I'm married."

"So am I," DiNozzo retorted falsely, relieved she'd just thought he was hitting on her rather than spying on her.

She disappeared into the locker room, and he leapt away from the wall, snatching up his jeans and holding them as he grabbed his shirt and ran from the room. He tried to slip his clothes back on and run as his phone went off, and he fumbled with that, too, finally getting it to his ear as he slipped out of the hotel onto the rainy street.

"Boss, can you hear me?" he asked. "Boss?"

"Across the street," Gibbs answered.

He flashed the lights of the federal car, and Tony dashed through the rain to hop in.

"Ziva slipped a phony French passport and some cash," Tony paused, sniffing the air. It smelled like— "to the woman with the Star of David I told you about," he paused again, sniffing, and this time Gibbs brought a pizza box into the front seat.

"I love you, Boss," DiNozzo said fiercely.

"How do you know the passport's phony?" Gibbs asked.

"Ari's photo, but not his name."

"What name's he using?"

"Aren't you curious to know how I got it?" DiNozzo asked eagerly.

"I assume you improvised like a good agent should," Gibbs retorted sarcastically.

"What an improv," Tony bragged, munching on a slice of pizza heartily. "I swear to god I could get a gig on SNL. Okay, get this: I pretend like I'm this real goofy guy trying to get laid—"

"Pretend?" Gibbs interrupted bluntly.

DiNozzo swallowed a mouthful of pizza.

"That hurt, Boss."

"What's the name?" Gibbs growled.

"Rene Saurel," Tony complied.

"Description?"

"All I saw was a name and a photo."

"The woman," Gibbs said, rolling his eyes.

"About five foot nine, dark hair, blue and white jogging outfit, big gym bag, real pretty girl. Looked enough like Ziva to be her sister," Tony said.

"She's not her sister," Gibbs muttered darkly. Women at Mossad did tend to look alike, but whoever was working with Ziva on this one, it was not Tali David.

Gibbs called McGee so they could red flag the passport and stop Ari should he try to get to an airport in the next few hours.

"Boss," Tony said suddenly, as Gibbs was hanging up. "Boss, that's her!" he pointed to the woman coming out of the hotel, and Gibbs looked.

He didn't recognize her. He definitely hadn't met her or seen her before. She was either new or—or he just didn't know Mossad as well as he thought he did.

"Okay," Gibbs said. "You stay with Ziva."

"I wonder if this girl's meeting Ari," Tony said. "I mean, you're gonna need backup."

Gibbs glared at him.

"Let me rephrase that," DiNozzo began.

"Out," ordered Gibbs.

Truth be told, he had been on his way to get backup when he'd had to make a pit stop back at NCIS to speak with Gerald and reassure Madeleine a little. DiNozzo scrambled out of the car, taking the pizza with him and thanking Gibbs for it. Gibbs turned violently and started to speed off, following the taxi with the mystery woman in it.

He was following it dutifully when he suddenly recognized Ducky's old Morgan driving towards him, and he veered into the middle of the street, blocking the car's progress. He leapt out of the car and put his gun on the roof of his car.

"Ari!" he bellowed. "GET OUT, ARI!"

The door opened.

"Good grief, Jethro!" came Ducky's voice. "Put that weapon down. I've had enough excitement for tonight," he groused, taking off his hat and slamming the door.

Gibbs tucked his gun away and ran to meet him.

"Ari abducts me, Gerald strips my gears, and now you play chicken on a wet street!" Ducky complained.

"Where's Ari?" Gibbs demanded, ever a one-track mind.

"Oh, gone I expect," Ducky answered mildly. "We were parked about—well, a ways back. He received a cell phone call and then told me to drive down the street for ten minutes."

He watched as Gibbs called McGee and barked a bunch of orders, pacing wildly around the street, his eyes searching everywhere.

"Our paths didn't cross by accident," Ducky assumed dryly.

"Ari's cell call came from that woman in that cab I was tailin'," Gibbs growled narrowly.

"He sent me down the street so that you would run into me!" Ducky ventured.

"Yeah, cab keeps going, picks him up, they're gone!" Gibbs yelled.

"Ari abducted me to get you off her tail."

"Maybe. What did you talk about?"

Ducky lifted his shoulders.

"Well, my Morgan, for a while," he said honestly. "He was surprisingly knowledgeable. Then Edinburgh medical school. Yeah, we were both alumni, a few decades apart, of course—

"Anything important, Ducky?" demanded Gibbs.

"He swore he didn't kill Caitlin," Ducky said finally. "Made a very logical and passionate defense."

Gibbs face was hard.

"You believe him?" he asked.

"He was very persuasive. Says he knows you'll never believe him."

"He's right about that," snarled Gibbs, his lips curling back.

"And that it's a shame," Ducky went on, "that one of you has to die. He's arrogantly confident that it won't be him. But said, on the off chance that it is, to keep looking for Caitlin's killer!"

Gibbs stormed to his car, his feet pounding on the pavement.

"Jethro!" Ducky stopped him, coming up close and grabbing his shoulder. "That isn't all he said," the doctor said, lowering his voice.

Gibbs started, as if to pull away, but noticed the uncertain look in Ducky's eyes and was given pause. He looked closer, studying the older man. He clenched his jaw, waiting to be told.

"What else?" he asked finally, when it was clear Ducky wasn't fessing up.

Ducky still hesitated, his eyes guarded.

"He made some remarks about Madeleine."

"He threatened her?" Gibbs guessed, unsurprised.

"Not at all," Ducky said, eyebrows going up as he shook his head. "He implied," Ducky paused.

"Spit it out, Ducky," growled Gibbs.

"He implied he had an intimate relationship with Jennifer, in the past," Ducky said reluctantly. "He seemed—eager to throw doubts on Madeleine's paternity."

Gibbs almost choked on his tongue. He stood glaring at Ducky for a moment, unable to process the information—Ari was—he was—telling Ducky Madeleine was his child? What kind of end game did that brook? What the hell was he playing at?

Ducky squeezed Gibbs' arm, and he wrenched it away. He didn't say anything.

"Had you ever had doubts, Jethro?" Ducky asked warily, obviously shaken by his speechless reaction.

Gibbs still didn't answer.

"He's a slick bastard, Duck," he said of Ari, "but he's right. One of us is gonna die."

He got into his car, and Ducky shouted after him, but he ignored it, and this time, he did head for Jenny's brownstone, using all of his strength to crush even the seeds of doubt from his mind.

Ari was playing mind games; he was screwing with him.

Madeleine belonged to _Gibbs_.

* * *

><p>DiNozzo leaned heavily against the brick wall outside of the hotel, watching the rainfall and listening to the thunder crash. He was trying not to think about Kate, but when things got too quiet, he inevitably started to think about her. The pizza box in his hand was just there to keep his muscles busy, and he was ignoring how cold it seemed to be getting as the night went on.<p>

He glanced up, considering taking a walk in the rain—just down the street, so he could keep an eye on the hotel—when a voice spoke behind him.

"Espresso?" she asked, as he turned to find none other than the intimidating Ziva David standing next to him. "Take it. It is not a bribe," she said, the moment she met his suspicious eyes. She looked honest and true, and he believed her, though he didn't know why.

"How long have you known I was-?"

"Following me?" she finished smoothly. "Since I left the Navy Yard."

Tony snickered.

"I don't think so," he said arrogantly.

She snickered right back at him.

"Blue sedan. You lay behind a white station wagon for a while, then a telephone van. You lost me at the traffic circle on—"

"Okay, okay," Tony groused, defeated. "Okay. You knew."

She held out the proffered espresso again.

"Take it," she coaxed. "It is chilly out here."

Pointedly, he took the one in her other hand—the one she wasn't offering. She smiled, and he noted that she had a very beautiful smile.

"You should not feel bad. I was trained by the best," she soothed.

"You know, that's what I like about Mossad," cracked Tony.

"Our training?"

"Modesty," Tony muttered, walking to the trash bin with the pizza box.

"There is still a slice in there!" Ziva pointed out astutely, hope in her voice.

He got it out for her and slowly walked back, handing her a cheap American peace offering. She took it with a little wicked smile.

"Toda," she said.

"Prego," he drawled.

They stood under the awning and watched the rain.

"Madeleine likes you," DiNozzo remarked suddenly.

Ziva said nothing for a moment. She tilted her head, and he glanced over at her while she wasn't looking. The rain and the humidity the rain gave off, mixed with the November cold, was making her hair frizzy. It curled everywhere, all around her face. Her cheeks seemed pale and flushed at the same time.

"I like Madeleine," she answered bluntly.

After another moment of silence, her lips compressed, and she moved her head towards him.

"I lost my little sister Tali in a Hamas suicide bombing," she revealed quietly. "She was eighteen, and the best of us. Tali had compassion," she said thoughtfully. "Tali loved Madeleine."

"I'm sorry," Tony ventured slowly.

"After Tali's death, I was like Gibbs," Ziva said. "All I wanted was revenge."

"Is that why you joined Mossad?" DiNozzo asked.

She laughed lightly.

"I was Mossad long before Tali's death. Old—"

"Family tradition?"

"Israeli sense of duty," she corrected sharply.

"C'mon," Tony prodded. "Who recruited you? Father? Uncle? Brother? Boyfriend?"

"Aunt? Sister?" she smirked at him. "Lesbian lover?" she teased.

He laughed a little.

"Very good," he praised. "You almost got me off the question. Almost."

She lowered her lashes.

"I volunteered," she said simply.

She left him her coffee and took the pizza.

"Leila Tov," she said.

And he knew it meant good night but only because Madeleine had said it so many times before.

* * *

><p>Abby had long gone back to her lab to work out her frazzled brain waves with some science, and so McGee was alone working the case in the bull pen—save for Madeleine. She was still sitting at Kate's desk, but she had laid her head down and was fixated on the floor. McGee was careful to attend to her when she asked for him and leave her alone when she seemed to be brooding.<p>

She was very much like Gibbs in that respect; she brooded in times like these.

He printed copies of something he needed for the case and went to look through the filing cabinets for more things he needed.

As for Madeleine, she was busy looking at the floor, pretending Kate was still with her.

She was seeing Kate as she had always remembered her, with high black pigtails and stick on star earrings. She had a smear of glitter on her cheek, like Madeleine sometimes got during craft time, and marker slashes on her T-shirt—a My Little Pony T-shirt—and she was giggling and waving at Madeleine, sitting crisscross applesauce on the floor.

"Why the long face, little Madeleine?" she seemed to ask, cocking her head happily.

Madeleine blinked at her, slumping her shoulders.

"You're gone," she whispered to herself, so quietly McGee heard nothing.

"Where did I go?" Kate asked brightly, holding her hands out. She touched the crucifix necklace she wore at her throat. "I've only gone to Narnia, Madeleine," she said calmly, her eyes sparkling.

Madeleine perked up a little. She raised her head and put it in her palm, cradling it. She blinked at the memory, the vision of Kate as she'd always seen her—as a big sister, as a mother figure, as a playful little friend. Kate giggled and crawled over, kneeling down before the chair.

"Did you see Aslan, Kate?" Madeleine whispered.

Kate's nose crinkled.

"He has a different name in your world, Maddie. You know that," she reminded her.

"Did you kiss his mane?"

Kate nodded.

Madeleine's lips trembled.

"It wasn't time for you to go," she said under her breath, mumbling. McGee was looking at her warily, but she didn't notice. "Narnia is for old people and sick people. Not Kates."

"You remember the books?" Kate was happy; she was smiling. "Peter and Edmund and Lucy and Jill and Eustace, they were taken before their time. Narnia needed them. The living world was finished with them."

"But you had things to do," Madeleine whimpered. "Abby's wedding. You wanted your own babies."

Kate smiled at her.

"You were my baby, Madeleine," she said earnestly. "You belonged to all of us. Your dad needs you. Your mommy needs your dad. There is peace in Narnia."

Madeleine sat up straight. She blinked her eyes. She felt a little better, but she was uncertain. Kate wasn't really here; she couldn't be. Kate had died, and ghosts weren't real. This was just—a memory. And imprint of how Madeleine had always thought of Kate—right?

"Is Tali there?" Madeleine asked quietly. "She is Jewish. But," the little girl hesitated, and as she remembered Tali, it was as if she were standing there, too. Her dark brunette hair, her lovely, lovely blue eyes, and the curious, delighted smile on her lips. She danced around Kate, and laughed, putting her hands on the American woman's shoulders.

"Shalom," she said, and then eyed Madeleine earnestly. "People are only gone when you forget them, little princess," she said wisely. "Your Kate is with me now. My Ziva is with you," she whispered.

She giggled, and she pulled Kate with her and spun her around, as if they were dancing in flowers. Madeleine laughed, brightening suddenly.

"Hey, Maddie?" McGee asked, walking over and kneeling down. "You okay?"

She put her hands on her head and mimed sweeping her hair into pigtails.

"Kate," she said eagerly. She smiled at him earnestly. "McGee, Kate is in Narnia, I think. Do you?"

McGee smiled at her. He turned and looked at his desk, and he felt like the shadow of Kate smiled at him from it.

"Yes," he promised sincerely.

"McGee!" Abby interrupted them, flying around the corner full speed. "Didn't Tony say he matched the tire tracks to a Chevy suburban?"

"Uh, yeah. Bridgestone builders, factory issue," McGee obliged. He stood and walked over to Abby curiously. Madeleine hopped up and followed him, taking his hand fiercely. "What are you doing?"

Abby's smile was huge.

"We caught a break," she revealed smugly. "A satellite running a test ran right over Newport News and got a picture of the warehouse in Virginia Beach," she explained, pulling up the footage. "Is that the building where Ari's sniper nest was?" she asked.

"Yes!"

She zoomed in, and McGee realized quickly that it was futile.

"He's not there."

"What did you expect, footage of him shooting?" Abby scoffed.

"Well!"

"Only in flicks, McGee," she said.

"Then why are you so excited?"

"I don't know, maybe it's being alone with you, on a rainy night," she quipped sweetly.

"Abby," he protested.

"Oh look! Could it be? A black Chevy suburban driving down the alleyway!" she announced, showing him on the screen.

Excitement took hold of him.

"Can you read the license plate?"

"It depends more on angle than resolution," she said, frustrated. She typed out commands furiously, trying her best. After a few failed attempts, she pulled up a clear picture of the license plate on screen, and McGee nearly shouted for joy as he repeated it over and over, _memorizing_ it.

He dragged Abby out of his chair to put a BOLO out, and Madeleine switched to holding her hand.

"We did good, huh?" Abby asked.

"We did great!" McGee said honestly.

Abby put her arms around him and hugged tightly.

"Abby," Madeleine murmured, looking up at her.

"We're going to get the bad guy, Madeleine," Abby promised automatically.

Madeleine blinked big eyes.

"Mommy and Daddy left the building," she said in a small voice. "But it's dangerous, Daddy said."

"He'll be okay, Maddie," McGee soothed.

"But," Madeleine stammered. "But, if they get hurt…what if they get hurt….if Ari hurts them both like Kate…can you take me home with you? You and Timmy?"

They both looked at her, faces falling at the very idea of it. Abby released McGee and knelt down, pulling Madeleine close to her. She combed her hair back and cupped her face gently.

"Timmy and I will always take care of you, Madeleine," she swore, "but not because we have to. We won't have to. Gibbs is going to make the bad guy go away. Have you ever heard a story where the bad guy wins?"

Madeleine smiled a little, but her eyes were still wide and scared.

"But Abby, this is _real_."

* * *

><p>Jenny's residential street was thankfully quiet and dark when he pulled up. There was only one spot of light besides the streetlights, and that was her master bedroom window. He got out of his car quietly, pulling out his phone and flicking it open. He almost dialed her international number, than laughed quietly, and switched to speed dial two—her home phone.<p>

McGee had called him on the drive over with information on the location of Ari's car. He had nothing left to do but find him—and kill him.

She answered in the middle of the second ring.

"Shepard."

"I need a partner for the night," he said roguishly. "You up for it?"

She was silent for a shocking two minutes.

"Jen?"

"Jethro," she said tensely. "Wasn't that quickie in your basement enough?"

"I need back up," he retorted. "You didn't think I meant—"

"That's what you have a whole team of agents for," she interrupted, while he laughed at her for misinterpreting him.

"Well, McGee's on protection duty with Abby and Madeleine, DiNozzo's tailing Ziva, and—"

"DiNozzo's what?" snapped Jenny.

"He's tailing Ziva!"

"Well where are you?" bitched Jenny.

"Outside."

He heard a scrambling, and she appeared at the window a moment later, sweeping the curtains back and standing there in something little and purple. He waved at her a little tauntingly, and he couldn't tell if she was scowling or smirking as she hung up the phone, and gave him a nod to say she'd be down shortly.

He was content to wait, and she took no time at all. In fact, she waited to begin tying her hair up until they were on the freeway driving hard for the house McGee had located Ari at.

"What are the chances Ari is still at this house?" she asked, tightening her hair into a ponytail.

"Zero," he said bluntly. "Ducky was a diversion, so Ziva could pass cash and documents to 'im," he growled.

"Ziva's a control officer for Mossad. She's just doing her job," Jenny reminded him curtly. "You'd do the same if the roles were reversed."

"She's using you, Jen!" Gibbs barked suddenly. "She's using your friendship."

"And I'm using her," Jenny retorted bluntly. "My hands are tied, Jethro," she hesitated. "Years ago, when you were stuck on a Air Force One with members of Al-Qaeda, Ziva told me what was going on at the risk of betraying her country's intelligence. She asked me to return the favor some day; to trust her. She called in that favor when you accused Ari of murder. Half a dozen Hamas suicide bombers will not be blowing up our boys in Iraq because of Ziva!"

"She's komemiute," Gibbs pointed out. "They specialize in assassinations."

"Weren't you a Marine sniper?" she fired back.

"If I have to go through Ziva to get Ari, I will."

"Ziva knows that."

Gibbs was silent a moment.

"You really trust her, Jen?"

Jenny slammed her hand on the dashboard.

"She saved my life in Cairo barely six months ago!" she said earnestly. "Two times in my life Ziva has been there to make sure Madeleine still had a mother. The least I can do, the least we can do, is prove to her that Haswari is guilty before we make her watch him die."

His mouth clenched tightly and she reached for his knee, touching it gently.

"If it weren't for her, Jethro," she began, and let the rest hang in the air.

He focused on the road.

"I know you like her, too," Jenny mumbled.

He smiled a little.

He didn't deny it; he did like Ziva. Hell, he trusted Ziva as much as he trusted Jen, and that was because she had ensured Jenny's safety so many times. She had done so at the risk of her career and her life, and so what other choice did Gibbs have but to trust her and to care for her, like she was one of his own? Ziva was a woman torn apart by the violence she was born into, and she was only searching for something to hold her pieces together.

Jenny kept her hand on his leg, moving it up and down in a soothing motion as he drove towards the residential neighborhood McGee had indicated.

"How is Madeleine?" she asked, worried.

Gibbs frowned, and he sighed.

"She's upset. She's scared," he muttered. He lifted his shoulders, turning down a suburban street. "You're right. She needs to be away from NCIS."

"But it _isn't_ safe," Jenny conceded.

"No," he agreed. He fell silent, his eyes searching the area. He was looking out the windshield when he next spoke. "I think she needs to be with Ziva tonight," he ventured quietly. "She was there for Ziva when Tali died."

Jenny moved her head uncertainly. Her fingers pressed into his leg.

"You won't let her go home with me, but you'll let Ziva take her?"

"It's nothing against _you,_ Jen," he muttered. "I _know_ you can protect her. I don't want you two together," he admitted tightly, his jaw clenched. He couldn't bear the idea of Jenny and Madeleine in the same place, just in case. He couldn't stop thinking of Shannon and Kelly, and how unbearable it had been to lose them both. Sometimes, in the darkest hours, he'd thought he might have been able to survive easier if he'd had just one of them, just _one_ to ease his pain. "Ari won't touch Ziva. Ziva swears he won't touch Madeleine."

Ducky's words echoed in Gibbs' head, but he forced them away. He wasn't going to tell Jen about that. He didn't want to provoke that kind of rage in her; she'd lose her senses. She'd put her hands around Ari 's throat and strangle him herself, if she knew he was saying he'd fathered Madeleine, and Gibbs had to protect Jenny's job as much as her life. The two were so intertwined.

Jenny was nodding. He found a place to park off to the side of the house McGee had mentioned, and he looked over at her. She pressed her fingers into his leg again and tilted her head back, smiling a little.

"You love that girl, don't you?" she asked quietly.

"Madeleine?" he asked, giving her an obvious look.

She shook her head.

"Ziva," she said primly.

He snorted, but she didn't take his skepticism seriously.

"You'd take her in if you could. Just like you'd have taken Tali and kept her. If you could."

He scoffed again, looking away. He reached down and ran his hand over hers.

"Ziva's twenty-somethin'," he growled.

"Yes. You still see a little girl when you look at her. You have that need to _save_ people, Jethro," Jenny said softly. "It's such a bittersweet affliction. The only person you never try to save is yourself."

He still didn't look at her, wary of the emotional outpouring. He had never liked being psychoanalyzed or figured out, and just because he loved Jenny didn't mean she changed that about him. Jenny took his silence for what it was and smiled, turning her head over and looking out the window. She laughed sarcastically.

"I can't believe this," she murmured. "I've been a director less than twenty-four hours, and I'm back on the street."

He looked over at her with an annoying grin.

"It's great, isn't it?"

"No, Jethro," she groused. "It isn't."

"C'mon! You love it."

"Truthfully? I'd rather be in bed."

He gave her a wicked look.

"Me too," he joked. "Wanna climb in the back seat?"

She whacked him in the chest with her hand, but he caught it before she could draw it back.

"Remember that stakeout in Marseille?" he asked, lowering his voice. His fingers ran over hers lightly. "August. Stuck in that attic with no air. Photographing everyone who boarded that Lebanese ship. That second night, that's the first time we—"

"Okay," she said, slipping her hand from his and covering his mouth. "Shut up," she drawled quietly.

She expected his lips to brush her palm, but when he licked her, she gasped and smacked him in the chest again. He grinned and raised his eyebrows at her, leaning over closer. She laughed and tried to lean away from him, but he only put his hand on her leg and slipped it higher.

"Am I turning you on, Jenny?" he asked coolly.

She leaned _into_ him and pushed him away, and he reached over to put his arm around her—but out of the corner of his eye her saw movement; a flash of something, a flicker of maybe nothing, but then Jenny saw it, too, and she screamed—

"Shooter!"

-right as he grabbed her head and forced it into his lap, shielding her from the bullet that shattered their front window.

"Jeth—RO!" she shrieked in protest, fighting against his hand. "I said _no_—" she started, but he was ignoring her, and he started the car and forced her to stay down, driving the car blindly. Another bullet broke through the glass as he sped forward.

He drove the car up onto a grassy front yard and jumped out, charging after an armed man now running down the sidewalk. Behind him, Jenny opened fire, and he stopped and fired as well. They both took him down expertly, and she caught up to him a moment later, grasping his back tightly, her gun pointed over his shoulder, as she leaned over him to see the kill.

Gibbs knelt and thrust the body over onto its back.

"He's too young to be Ari," Jenny remarked.

"It isn't him," growled Gibbs.

He hung his head for a moment, and Jenny crouched, too, leaning against him. Her hands touched the back of his neck, and he knew she was comforting him, but he couldn't revel in it right now.

This man had shot to kill—shot to kill _Jenny_. He was still reeling from the firefight.

He wrestled around in his mind for anything else to focus on, and then the last thing Jenny had said in the car clicked, and he remembered her protest of indignant rage when he pushed her down to shield her.

He turned abruptly and glared at her, narrowing his eyes.

"What the hell did you _think_ I was forcing your head down for?"

She blushed.

* * *

><p>He took Jen home, and he spent just a few precious moments with her making sure she wasn't shaken up or upset—she insisted she wasn't, but he stayed while she got back into pajamas to make sure. He called in two agents who had acted as Morrow's security, and would no doubt now act as hers, and ordered them to stake out her home. He left her writing up her side of the incident report. He would do his later, but his first order of business was to retrieve Madeleine and give her some respite from NCIS.<p>

A storm of chaos was about to break loose, now that a terrorist was dead at the hands of Gibbs and the new Director was in the mix, and he wanted her to have a little peace. He had decided once and for all she was going to spend a few hours with Ziva in a quiet, secluded hotel room. His gut had no qualms about it; he knew Ziva would provide the single _best_ form of defense for Madeleine, he knew she would never hurt his daughter. He also knew—on a less honourable note—that leaving Madeleine with her would remind her of the pain Ari was causing, and maybe it would open her eyes just a little bit wider to the truth.

No; Gibbs had no qualms in his gut about Ziva—but when he arrived at the Embassaro with a sleepy, scared little girl, DiNozzo had several qualms he started bitching about immediately.

"We don't even know this chick, Gibbs—well, you know her—I don't know her. I've been tailing her and she knew about it the whole time—and she's helping Ari escape, and you want to leave Madeleine with her? I'll take Maddie, I'll take her to my apartment. Ari doesn't know where I live—"

Gibbs finally rounded on DiNozzo in the hallway outside of Ziva's room, backing him up against the wall. He glared at him until the senior agent fell silent and shut his trap, looking moodily at Gibbs.

"Ziva David can be trusted," he said coolly.

DiNozzo glared at him.

"Then why am I tailin' her?" he demanded.

Gibbs didn't know where the hell to begin. It wasn't his place to divulge Ziva's family problems to the likes of Anthony DiNozzo, and he wasn't about to betray her trust in such a way. He scowled slightly, lifting Madeleine higher on his hip.

She whined unhappily and shoved her head into his shoulder.

"She's Mossad, Tony," Gibbs said curtly. "There are certain things she needs to know before she can act. International stability depends on it."

"You sound like our new director," snapped DiNozzo.

Gibbs grit his teeth and snorted wryly. His hand ran over Madeleine's back.

"She rubs off on me," he growled.

He turned and raised his hand to knock on Ziva's door.

"Boss," Tony said desperately. "Will you tell me the whole damn background some day? Ziva, Shepard, Israel—how you got Maddie—"

"You know damn well how I _got_ Maddie," retorted Gibbs.

DiNozzo laughed sarcastically.

"You know _damn well_ what I mean," he answered boldly. "You've got a hell of a lot of explaining to do. You owe us," he paused brazenly. "It's the least you can do if your girlfriend's gonna be our boss!"

Gibbs shot a ruthless glare back at DiNozzo. He thought it over, and then knocked loudly and firmly on the immaculate white hotel room door.

"It's a long story," he said gruffly, divulging nothing else.

DiNozzo ran his hands through his hair in frustration and turned, kicking the wall violently. Ziva opened the door to witness it, but said nothing. Madeleine smiled when she saw the familiar face, and Ziva slowly smiled back, though she looked weary and faraway. Her hair spilled from that central widows peak messily, and she had changed from her usual cargo pants and slouchy shirt to cool cotton pajama pants and a loose tank top.

She spoke immediately in Hebrew to Madeleine, and Madeleine nodded.

"Will you still be spying on me, Agent DiNozzo?" Ziva asked next.

DiNozzo looked sour.

"Yes," Gibbs said firmly. "He'll be right outside your door."

"I hardly need a knight in armor, Agent Gibbs," Ziva said smoothly.

Gibbs shrugged and grinned.

"He's just the loyal steed," he quipped.

"Pony," Madeleine informed Ziva.

Ziva nodded. She crossed her arms rightly across herself, and Gibbs let Madeleine slip to the floor. She stepped closer to Ziva and slipped her hand around the woman's leg, her fingers clutching Ziva's knee. Ziva did not look down, but Gibbs swore he saw something soft and relaxed touch her eyes. He looked at her intently.

"You know how hard it is to lose someone," he remarked gruffly.

Ziva inclined her head.

"You'll protect her, Ziva," Gibbs said assertively, more an order than anything else.

Ziva nodded her head this time.

"I once told you that she was like Tali. Untouchable."

It was all Ziva said, but it was all he needed to hear. He crouched down and bid goodnight to Madeleine, kissing her gently and stroking her hair back. He tapped her Star of David necklace and smiled at her.

"I will see you in a few hours," he told her quietly.

Ziva and DiNozzo would bring Madeleine to NCIS when she woke up. The Navy Yard was going to be thriving with hectic activity in the meantime, as evidence was processed and Gibbs worked his ass off to try and find some way to prove that Ari was at the core of this, when he knew it was all working against him now—since he and Jen had shot that young man on a suburban street.

He'd as good as set himself up.

He leaned forward and brushed his lips to Ziva's jaw in a chaste, formal kiss.

"You do not let anyone touch her," he ordered, with a slight growl in his tone.

She nodded again.

Gibbs turned to leave, and gave DiNozzo a meaningful look as he left, forcing him with a glare to accept his position and stay; to stand guard as any true knight or noble steed would. Ziva stood in the doorway, with Madeleine clutching her leg. She began to shut the door, to retreat into her own private world, but DiNozzo barreled into the way with a suspicious, sharp look.

She spoke in Hebrew to Madeleine, and Madeleine scampered towards the bed, crawling onto it contently and curling up. She had a stuffed animal in her hand, and a little backpack with a few knick-knacks in it over her shoulder.

"Horses are not permitted in the bedroom, Agent DiNozzo," Ziva said wryly, gallantly removing his hand from the door and sliding it closed.

Before she could get it all the way, he bolted it, so she could chain it locked but in a way so he could see in a crack—just a sliver was all he needed, just in case. He raised his eyebrow and shot her a keen look.

"Haven't you ever seen the Godfather, Miss David?"

* * *

><p>Ziva knew that Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo was pointedly listening at the door, and she would have known that even if she couldn't <em>clearly<em> see his nose and ear lurking right where the crack was. She certainly hoped he was better at stealthy spying in situations that required him to be wholly unspotted by an enemy.

She did not spend much time reminding herself that right now he saw her as his enemy. She knew she was not his enemy, and he would know that soon enough—when this was over, and Ari was back in Israel.

What remained to be determined was whether Ari would return to the homeland dead or alive.

She thwarted DiNozzo's spying by deliberately speaking only in Hebrew to Madeleine and instructing her to do the same. Practice, she called it; an effort to help the little girl hold on to some of her adopted heritage. Ziva still marveled to think that all the time Madeleine had spent with Tali had resulted in a little American child's fierce attachment to Israel and Judaism.

Madeleine had pulled a picture book out of her little backpack and was explaining it to Ziva in a subdued tone. She laid on her back on the large hotel bed, holding the book high over her face, and Ziva sat next to her, her legs curled in and angled towards the little girl.

"The little boy got sick," Madeleine explained, still speaking Hebrew. "They had to take away his rabbit, but it turned into a _real_ bunny because he loved it _so_ much," she continued. She twisted around and lowered the book, looking up at Ziva. "Tali said that's because love is _always_ better than hate."

"Tali was very wise," Ziva remarked mildly.

"But my mommy says hate and love are made the same way."

"Ima is also very wise."

Madeleine stared at Ziva.

"I love you, Ziva," she informed her seriously.

Ziva cocked her head at Madeleine, her eyes solemn. Her lip turned up just a little, and she felt like lying down and pulling Madeleine close to her. She resisted, though. She was being watched, and she did not like to be seen as vulnerable. She said nothing, and Madeleine glared at her in a small, amusing way.

"You are like Aba," Madeleine decided. "Aba never _says_ he loves Ima."

Ziva arched a brow.

"Do you think he does?" she asked wryly.

Madeleine nodded raptly. She didn't say anything else and lifted the book back in front of her face. She began explaining some more of the story to Ziva, going all out of order. Ziva did not tell her that she knew this story, if only because Jenny and Gibbs, and even Tali, had read it countless numbers of times when Madeleine was a toddler in Israel.

"Ziva," Madeleine said, lowering the book again. She sat up and crawled closer, plucking at Ziva's shirt anxiously. She looked up with her big green eyes. "Are you protecting me?"

"Yes," Ziva answered firmly. "I will not allow you to be harmed."

Madeleine frowned.

"Kate said she would not let Aba be hurt. Kate is gone forever."

Ziva clenched her jaw tightly. It was a sensitive subject. She had not known Agent Todd; she had no real emotions over her death, except for the chaos it was creating between herself, her father, and her half-brother.

"She kept her word," Ziva said neutrally. "Aba is not harmed," she added.

"But I do not want you to get hurt," whined Madeleine pointedly, struggling through it. "If someone tries to hurt you, can I be hurt instead?"

Ziva's heart seemed to stop.

"No," she said emphatically. "No," she added in English, just for good measure.

"Why?" Madeleine demanded.

"Tali would never forgive me," Ziva said tartly.

"Tali is dead."

"Tali," Ziva said sharply, tapping her necklace, and then Madeleine's, "is with us."

"Ima and Aba say Ari hurt Kate," Madeleine said. "Ari is your brother."

"Ari will not hurt me," Ziva said sternly. "You are, therefore, safest with me."

"Will you give me to Ari?"

"Absolutely not," Ziva answered firmly.

"Is he bad, Ziva?" Madeleine asked, her wide eyes begging for answers.

Ziva looked at the child's hands as she played with the frayed ends of Ziva's tank top. She knew that Gibbs' ulterior motive in entrusting Madeleine to her was to remind her of who she could really trust; of who had never betrayed her and never made her think twice. She took Madeleine's hand and squeezed it.

"Are you afraid of Ari, little one?" she asked earnestly.

There was some American idiom, wasn't there? Truth came out of the mouths of babes?

Madeleine looked upset.

"_Ken_," she confessed quietly.

Ziva bowed her head, resting her forehead very lightly on Madeleine's temple.

"As am I," she whispered.

The last person left to have his eyes opened to the black truth of it all was Eli David himself.

* * *

><p>Jenny was in full Director political mode when she arrived at work the next morning, from her perfectly fixed red hair down to her slinky black boots. She spent the first few hours of her day arguing with numerous agencies in MTAC, while Gibbs spent his time hounding Ducky over the dead boy's autopsy and listening to McGee go over the details of the crime scene.<p>

It was exactly as he'd imagined. Abby confirmed that the rifle the boy had used to shoot at him and Jen last night was the exact weapon that had delivered the fatal shot to Kate, and once that report was formally filed—as it had to be—even the steeliest of Gibbs' glares could not change the minds of the higher ups.

As far as they were concerned, they were off the hook, and Ari Haswari was innocent.

Gibbs could even see the fragile, uncertain hope hidden deep in Ziva's eyes as she sat in the bullpen silently.

The man's name was Mohammad Asferi, DiNozzo said. He was American-born and had ties to Al-Qaeda, and he was—Gibbs knew—the fall guy for Ari's crime. There was no way to prove it, not as far as the government or the Israelis were concerned. Gibbs knew Jenny's hands were tied; he knew logically that she had her orders and she wasn't in a position to go vigilante and follow her gut or his, but even knowing that, he couldn't reign in his anger.

"Since Miss Sciuto confirmed that the sniper rifle we recovered last night was the weapon used to murder Special Agent Todd, and with no evidence to the contrary, it appears that Mohammad Asferi was the sniper," Jenny said, her face unreadable as she stood in the bullpen.

Gibbs said nothing; he did not even look at her. Madeleine was sitting in his lap, brighter-eyed than she had been the last time he had seen her. She followed Jen with her eyes, and Gibbs was glad her presence was soothing, even if he himself was pissed at Jenny. She cocked her head, listening to Jenny talk, obviously trying to make sense of her mother working here, in front of _everyone_. Gibbs ignored the look DiNozzo was shooting between Jenny and himself.

"I believe it is safe for your team to go home, Gibbs," Jenny said coolly.

_What you want to believe and what's true are different things, Jen_ he thought.

Madeleine turned and looked up at him.

"I want to go home," she said desperately. She raised her eyebrows, though. "I thought Ari hurt Kate."

Gibbs said nothing, but he did shoot a sharply pointed look at Jenny. He rubbed Madeleine's back soothingly, staying silent. Jenny's jaw clenched, and she turned her back, addressing his team.

"Ziva thinks Ari is bad," Madeleine said very quietly, and Gibbs turned roughly to the Israeli woman, eyeing her intently. She looked back at him, her face ever the blank, impenetrable mask.

"Special Agent Todd's funeral is in Indiana tomorrow afternoon," Jenny said solemnly. Abby, though she had liked Jen initially, was looking at her as if she were the devil himself. "SecNav has offered his private jet to fly us there. Go home," she ordered. "Get some rest."

It was a point of pride for Gibbs that every single one of them remained still until he gave a slight nod letting them know it was okay to listen to her. Tense as his situation with Jen might be for a few weeks, they needed to show her respect as the Director of this agency.

Jenny turned, and she intercepted the look exchanged between Ziva and Gibbs. She caught Ziva's eye after a moment, and then stepped between them, tilting her head.

"What about you, Jethro?" she asked quietly.

Would he go to the funeral? He wasn't the type of man who liked to mourn properly.

"Mohammad didn't kill Kate. He didn't shoot at Abby," Gibbs said tightly.

"You are not infallible, Jethro, no matter what your gut is telling you," Jenny snapped tensely. "Ari isn't trying to kill you, but this obsession might!"

He didn't know if that statement was for the benefit of whoever might be listening or if she really meant it, but either one pissed him off. He hugged Madeleine and leaned forward, glaring at her.

"He tried to kill _you_, Jen," he growled in a low voice. "He sent Mohammad to shoot at whoever I had in the car with me, knowing it would be _you_. He sent that boy to die."

"No," Jenny growled. "No one's going to do that."

"You worked with these people," Gibbs hissed. "You fought these people. You were tortured by these people. They die for seventy-two virgins and rivers of honey and they don't give a damn who they take with them." He stopped and pointed at Madeleine, lowering his voice. "He will go after her next. He knows the quickest way to get me dead is to fire at her."

Jenny's eyes searched his.

"Because I'd step in front of the bullet," Gibbs barked quietly.

"Do not use fear tactics against me," she said curtly. "My hands are tied. You know my hands are tied."

It was then that Gibbs leaned back and turned to Ziva. He inclined his head.

"Hers aren't," he pointed out bluntly.

Jenny turned to face the younger woman, looking at that blank face and those dark eyes, trying to read whatever was cooking between her and Gibbs. A frustrated line developed between her eyes and her fingers flexed into fists.

"Officer David?" she asked crisply.

Gibbs did not miss the tart little eyebrow cock Ziva gave her at the formal address. He almost laughed—but thought better of it.

"There is plutonium missing from a plant in Israel," Ziva said coolly, "as Agent Gibbs' FBI hamster already informed him on the side."

Madeleine giggled.

"Hamster," she said. She herself wasn't sure what Ziva was supposed to say, but she knew silly Ziva was _wrong_.

"Mole," Gibbs growled gently, correcting them both.

"FBI informant?" Jenny asked, her tone seething. "Fornell," she groused under her breath.

It was what Gibbs had spent time doing in the early hours of the morning—calling in favors from Tobias.

"Hamas has the makings of a bomb," Gibbs said bluntly. "They have a core; no detonator. Ari was to buy a trigger, deliver it to the Hamas cell with the plutonium, and Mossad was to grab them."

Jenny's brows twitched.

"And?"

"He is," Ziva spoke up quietly, "behind schedule," she decided delicately. When she felt Gibbs' glare on her, she moved her lips into a taught line, and then continued: "This was supposed to be done before he partook in his Al-Qaeda operation in Norfolk," she added.

Gibbs' glare at Jen was pointed.

Jenny ignored him.

"Have you spoken to Director David, Ziva?" she asked mildly.

Ziva did not answer immediately.

"You told me that I would have to make a choice," she said finally, reminding Jenny of her cold words. "You told me I would need to choose between what I want to believe, and the truth."

Jenny nodded sharply. Ziva lifted her shoulders.

"I have chosen the truth," she said stonily.

Gibbs stood up, Madeleine on his hip. He looked at Jenny hard.

"Why is he shooting the same bullets I shot as a Marine?"

"I profiled you for him," Ziva answered, her voice hard. "Many years ago. When you first came to Mossad."

"You found out about my first wife, and my daughter," Gibbs remembered sharply. "You handed him the tools he needed."

Ziva stood up, prowling around to the front of Gibbs' desk. She looked at him warily, attempting one last ditch question to perhaps find some redemption for Ari.

"Why did he not use the M40, like you, Gibbs?" she asked of him.

"A Bravo-51 is called a Kate," Gibbs said abruptly.

She swallowed.

"I do not want to believe Ari is the sniper," she said coldly. "I will not let myself believe it. What you have said," she paused, "should be investigated. I have already given my word to assist you."

Gibbs nodded. He looked down at Madeleine for a moment, his hand running over her back again.

"Assist him?" snorted Jenny sarcastically. "By setting up Ari for him to kill?"

"By setting up me for Ari," growled Gibbs, looking at her sharply. "If he's innocent, he won't show up."

"And if you're right?" Jenny asked, something fearful flashing through her eyes.

Gibbs turned his eyes on Ziva. She bowed her head in agreement.

"Ziva will back me up," he said.

Jenny looked between them, unable to authorize anything remotely similar to what they were suggesting. She took a step back and turned around, rubbing her jaw. When she turned around, her face was blank.

"What do I do?" she asked quietly, with no one around but them to hear her uncertainty.

Gibbs stoically handed Madeleine over his desk to her mother.

"You and Emmy take SecNav's private jet to Indiana," he answered sternly. "I will meet you there."

"What if you don't?" Jenny demanded fiercely.

Ziva did not miss a beat.

"He will."

* * *

><p>For once in her life, it was Jenny's turn to be irrational, to be protective, and to be the one who threw a fit when he tried to do something dangerous. She knew he and Ziva were waiting to do whatever the hell they had planned until after the team and she and Madeleine were safely in the air to Indiana, but she couldn't yet bring herself to leave. Her security team was waiting to take them to the jet's site for takeoff, and she was sequestered in the corner of the parking garage, fighting with Jethro.<p>

"Let him go, Jethro," she insisted. "Just let the son of a bitch _go_. Eli David will incinerate him for this. Let Mossad serve him justice."

Gibbs was intractable, though, and his face was hard.

"You can't trust Eli David to take him out," he spat. "He let him run without a leash, until he finally put Ziva in charge of him—and even she can't hold tight enough to choke him. It has to be me."

"It doesn't! It doesn't always have to be you!" snapped Jenny. She pushed at his shoulders, shoving him away and then gripping him tightly. "He wants to _kill_ you, Jethro!" she growled.

"He won't."

"You don't _know_ that you _selfish_ bastard," she hissed. Her eyes stung and watered. "He had criminals take me hostage in Cairo," she burst out, admitting it aloud. "He held a gun to Madeleine in autopsy. He's the best shot Mossad has ever seen," she railed. "I cannot lose you, Jethro, I can't," she said breathlessly.

He caught her hands and held them in his.

"Ziva has my back."

"_Ziva_ is not infallible either," snarled Jenny.

Gibbs was calm.

"You told me she was your guardian angel," he reminded her gruffly. He paused, glancing around them, and then stepped closer. "Ziva's always been there, Jen," he reminded her, trying not to sound too sentimental and soft. "She answered when I put out the word that I was trying to find you. She brought you back to Emmy twice. Do you trust her with my life?"

"Yes," Jenny said desperately, her lips shaking. She bent her knees and pushed her head forward, shoving her face into his shoulder. She moved her head back and forth, shaking it desperately. "But if she blinks for a second—" Jenny broke off.

"I do not blink," Ziva scoffed, materializing out of nowhere.

Jenny gasped and leapt backwards, for a moment thinking one of Gibbs' team had caught them being intimate. Ziva had Madeleine by the hand and was eyeing Jenny with an unreadable expression.

"Your agents are impatient," she remarked.

Jenny bowed her head, taking a moment to compose herself. Her mouth formed into a stubborn line, and she fell silent of her protests suddenly. Gibbs sensed her channeling her fear into anger, and she reached out for Madeleine. Madeleine hopped up to her, taking her hand and leaning into her legs.

"We are going to say goodbye to Kate," Madeleine informed him.

He crouched down, and with her at eye level and Jen towering above them, fighting all kinds of fright and anxiety, he felt again like he was going off to war. He prayed to God that this time around, when he said goodbye, he was not saying goodbye forever.

He kissed her gently on the forehead and squeezed her hand.

"Make sure Pony holds it together, hmm?" he encouraged, pushing her hair back. "You give Kate a goodbye for me."

"You are not coming?" Madeleine asked. Jenny placed her hands on the Kindergartener's shoulders and squeezed gently, comforting her.

Gibbs smirked a little.

"I have to stay here," he said neutrally. "Make sure it's safe when you and Mommy come home."

"But it is _important_."

"I might be late," he amended, touching her under the chin affectionately.

"Like the white rabbit?" she asked, eyes going wide.

He pulled a watch out of his pocket, something handed down from his grandfather. He placed it into Madeleine's palm and grinned as if everything were normal, and good, and fine. After two daughters, he was familiar enough with _Alice In Wonderland_ to play along.

"You go with the Queen of Hearts," he teased.

She smiled at him, and leaned more heavily into Jenny. He stood and kissed Jenny chastely on the cheek, but she seized his neck in her hands and kissed him properly, unconvinced that he would be safe. Her hands shook, and her nails pricked his skin, but it passed after a moment and she let him go.

"Knave," she snapped in his ear, pressing her forehead to his for just a split second.

She straightened her shoulders and led Madeleine off to the waiting cars, and it wasn't until the clicking of her heels faded to nothing that Gibbs spoke.

"You told him where I would be?" he asked Ziva coldly.

Ziva nodded curtly.

"You have three and a half hours to get to Norfolk."

* * *

><p>His mind was a blank the entire fast-paced drive to Norfolk. He deliberately thought of nothing, so as not to think of everything that could go wrong. If all went to plan, then there was no danger, but on the off chance that Ziva was as rotten as her brother—<p>

That was something he just didn't believe.

He emerged onto the rooftop that had been Kate's unexpected grave, a bouquet of roses in hand, and he felt the sudden desperate urge to kneel to the gravel and kiss the ground in prayer for his life. He wasn't a man who was often scared, but here he gave into a little fear; he _wanted_ to see his family again. There had been so many years after he lost Shannon and Kelly when he had walked fearless into suicidal situations because he had lost the will to fight and to survive, but he had found that will again. As a Marine, he had done all he could to support his soldiers and get them all back alive, but he had also had to preserve himself if at all possible, for the sake of his wife and child at home.

This was no different.

He stood in the spot where Kate's body had lain for some time, the roses in hand at his side. It was a farce; all of it a ploy to draw Ari Haswari out—and then some. Gibbs knew Ari wasn't here, just as he knew he was in no real danger, because that was how he and Ziva had orchestrated it.

Gibbs had let slip loudly to several parties that he was returning to the rooftop for some soul searching and to pay private respects to Kate. Ziva had purposely told Ari it was an attempt to force his hand, and thus Ari was no doubt lying in wait back in D.C.—biding his time, hiding himself, and waiting to make his move.

As for Ziva, she was around. Gibbs didn't know where, but he trusted she was there, as she said she would be, and as Jenny had said she always was. As if she were their guardian angel.

A plane thundered by overhead, and Gibbs turned his head up, watching it soar. Somewhere in these skies, his team was flying to Indiana with Jenny and Madeleine. They were safe.

It was almost over.

He stayed on the rooftop for a convincingly long time.

* * *

><p>The drive back from Norfolk was tedious, and he was on alert the entire time for anything that might go wrong. He was sure Ari would want to face him to kill him, so he could get a little righteous monologue in, but with that man—there was sometimes no predicting. If Ari decided to shoot Gibbs while he was driving unaware—<p>

Well. He'd die the same way Shannon and Kelly had.

It was late when he got home, and his house was completely dark. He couldn't hear the dog barking when he walked up to the porch, and that gave him pause. He opened the door as neutrally as possible and Oz came bounding up, whining quietly. He wagged his tail, his whole body jerking madly, and Gibbs knelt down to soothe him. There was a rubber band snapped around his snout, holding his jaws together.

It angered Gibbs to see. He figured it could have been worse; Ari could have killed the dog. He knew now that their ploy had worked. Ari was here, and he knew it to be Ari because something told him Ziva would not harm an animal even in a minor way.

Gibbs unsnapped the rubber band and Oz let out a few wild, joyful barks. He licked his master's face and then stared at him expectantly, as if demanding to know where his little mistress was.

"Emmy's safe," Gibbs said gruffly, scratching the dog under his chin.

He rose up, his palm resting on Oz's ears, and there in the living room suddenly stood Ziva. She had snuck in through the back. She folded her arms tightly across her chest and nodded her head curtly. She was ready; he could move.

Gibbs gave a stern command to Oz, ordering him to stay put. He clutched the roses in his hand and stormed towards the basement purposefully, jogging down the stairs and going straight to his workbench. He chucked the bouquet onto the counter and immediately went to open the vault where he kept his old sniper rifle locked up.

It was empty.

He froze for a moment, forcing himself not to smile. He didn't want anything in his body language to hint that Ari had walked into a trap.

Gibbs flicked on a light and looked around.

"You are looking for this, Jethro?"

Ari Haswari sat in the corner, cradling Gibbs' own sniper rifle.

* * *

><p>Ziva crouched out of sight behind the doorway in Gibbs' laundry room, her ear tilted towards the basement. She heard Ari speak, and her eyes closed slowly as she began to prepare herself for what was to come. This was the final confirmation that it was all truth; the brother who had once put her on his shoulders to pick apples in the orchard was a terrorist, an enemy of Israel, and a cold-blooded murderer.<p>

Her lips were hard as she pressed them together and listened, eyes still closed.

Logic had plagued her for weeks now, but in her heart of hearts she had hoped something would redeem him; she had hoped something was wrong. The tiny sliver of innocent childhood left in Ziva David clung to the innocence that had once been in Ari, and she almost refused to let go of the good in him, even as he fired it away with every clutch of his trigger.

She tilted her head back, and let her hair fall out of her face.

She had lost her mother. She had watched her baby sister go up in flames. She had stood by while her father became so cold and so machine-like that he used her as if she were an immoveable weapon.

Did she have the clout to do this?

She promised Gibbs she had his back. She swore to Jenny he would be at that funeral in Indiana—and that all depended on Ziva putting a bullet into her brother's head, into the last remnants of any scrap of peace she had ever had.

* * *

><p>Ari's expression was cold.<p>

"I want you to know," he said silkily, "I wish I hadn't had to shoot Caitlin."

Gibbs threw his car keys onto the counter.

"Why did you?" he asked roughly.

"To cause you pain," Ari answered smoothly, his expression unchanging. It was eerie how much pleasure the statement seemed to light his eyes with.

"I piss you off that much?" Gibbs demanded, thinking of all that Kate had been robbed of. She had wanted marriage, children; a life within and outside of NCIS. Her death had come too early, for her, for her family, for Gibbs' little girl—for him.

Why did Kate have to die because Gibbs pissed someone off?

"Not you," Ari said mildly. "My father. You have the misfortune of reminding me of the bastard."

Gibbs almost laughed aloud. He remembered distinctly how he had threatened Eli David all those years ago, when Madeleine was just a baby.

"I remind you of Eli David?"

"You are both men who have been told you are on the good side," Ari remarked. "Thus you see everything you do as justified," he paused. "Infuriating trait," he commented lightly. Ari inclined his head and gave the hint of a sardonic smile. "There are other similarities."

Gibbs shoved the vault for his gun shut.

"He didn't marry your mother," he guessed, thinking of Jenny, and of Ari's absurd attachment to Madeleine.

"That is what makes me a bastard, not him," Ari responded coolly. "Bastards…have the misfortune of existing in a way that inconveniences those around them." A cool smile touched Ari's lips. "From the moment of my birth, he groomed me to be one thing: his mole in Hamas. He sent me to Edinburgh to become a doctor, so I could work in the Gaza camps alongside my mother. When he had her killed, I had no trouble turning colours."

Gibbs eyes narrowed, meeting Ari's harshly.

"You don't really think your father had your mother _killed_?" he scoffed, hardly believing Eli David capable of such brutality as _that_.

Ari snorted lightly.

"It was a retaliatory Israeli strike on a day I was in Tel Aviv," Ari explained, "visiting him. It was—similar to the bombing in Tel Aviv that stole Talia's life. That bombing was baited. Invited. Provoked. So Mossad—so Israel—would have justification for warfare on Palestine."

Gibbs' chest felt heavy, as he knew somewhere Ziva was listening. Gibbs did not know if Ari was lying about the events of Easter almost two years ago, but the thought was daunting, and he hoped Ziva could bear it enough to get through with this.

"After all of those years of planning, he finally had his mole in Hamas," Ari said thoughtfully. "He never knew how much I hated him," he mused, stroking Gibbs' rifle. "I wish I could see his face when he realizes he created not a mole but a monster, eager to strike at the heart of Mossad and Israel."

Gibbs glared at Ari, listening to the pipes creak in his house. He heard the jingle of Oz's collar, and he moved his head.

"Yeah," he drawled coldly. "I almost feel sorry for you."

Ari inclined his head in a way that was almost gallant.

"And I for you," he returned loftily.

He stood, and Gibbs stepped to the side, keeping him sharply in line of sight. Ari tilted his head and lowered the rifle.

"Bastards," he said silkily. "Troublesome enough when they are yours," he paused, a malevolent smile finally breaking out over his face, and lighting up his hollow, black eyes. "Twice as troublesome when they are not."

Gibbs said nothing.

"Would it trouble you, Agent Gibbs?" asked Ari mildly. "To know your precious Madeleine was never yours at all? To know that the woman you hold in such high esteem was never anything more than a great Western whore within the walls of Mossad, looking for a man to pin a problem on?"

Gibbs was torn somewhere between ignoring the offensive remarks and ripping Ari's tongue out. There was no chance that Madeleine wasn't his—

_This baby looks like you when she sleeps, Jethro. _

Ari mistook his silence for uncertainty and grinned like the Cheshire cat.

"It plagues you already," he hissed. "I had Jenny Shepard more times than I can count," he remarked. "I had her until her voice was hoarse for screaming. I had her, and when that did not satisfy her, she ran squalling back to the likes of you." There was a placid, dangerous glint in Ari's eye. "Surely you know that the sole reason I shot Caitlin rather than Madeleine was because I would not harm my own flesh and blood."

Gibbs backed up as Ari prowled around the boat. His jaw clenched tightly as he leaned back against the railing. In the corner of his peripheral vision, he saw a flash of wild black curls, and he knew Ziva was in position. He fought down the anger raging in his blood—and stomped on the barest whispers of doubt that tried to poison him against Jenny—and he stared coldly at Ari.

"You'd shoot Ziva if she stepped in front of me to protect me," he goaded.

Ari smirked.

"When Ziva told me you were going to the rooftop to pay your respects to Caitlin, I knew it was a trap. Though the opportunity was sweet—romantic even," Ari grinned, "I need you to commit suicide with your own rifle."

He hoisted the weapon in his hands delicately.

"The pain of losing Caitlin, the shock of discovering Madeleine belongs to me, it was all too much," he said quietly. "You never did give me enough credit in our game. I know you asked Ziva to cover you. She is not here; she is in her proper place on a plane back to Israel. And you would want to kill me yourself; to taste the sweetness of revenge. But you will not. You will die, here in your basement, and I will follow your redhead to Indiana and I will rip Madeleine away from her, kill her before the child's eyes, and my sweet revenge will be knowing that I hold in my mercy the thing you held most dear in your life."

Ari raised the weapon to his shoulder, arming it expertly.

Gibbs held up his hand.

"I've killed enough men in my life, Ari," he said coldly. "It's gonna be just as sweet watching you die."

If the comment gave Ari pause, he did not show it. He peered through the scope with the practiced skill of a trained sniper, and his lip curled.

"Have I sown the seeds of doubt, Jethro?" he asked rabidly. "I have heard you make no defense of your daughter's—"

His finger twitched on the trigger.

Ziva shot him.

* * *

><p>He knew it was coming, and the gunshot still felt like a sucker punch in the gut.<p>

Ari reared back and crashed to the floor, Gibbs' sniper rifle clattering to the cement next to him with a loud, hollow sound. It was messy and fast; so unlike the romance of death scenes in movies or literature. His skull knocked with a _thunk_ against the cabinets, his blood began to leak across the floor, and his foot twitched for a moment against the rifle.

Then he was still, and it was _over_.

Though he heard the soft footsteps on the stairs behind him, for a moment Gibbs didn't look. He simply stared down at the bastard who had plagued him since he had first set foot in Israel. The man who had first shown Madeleine what broken trust was, scared her, and hurt her; the man who had killed Caitlin and had a hand in torturing Jenny—that man was gone, neutralized, dead on the basement floor.

He was grimly satisfied, but now was not the time to express that satisfaction. Ziva was at his shoulder, standing a head shorter than him, her gun clutched tightly in her hand. He turned slightly, and her skin was paler than he had ever seen it. Even when she had grieved for Tali, she had not looked so sick.

He tried to see it as she did; Ari was his enemy, but the dead man on the floor was her brother. He tried to empathize, but he would never see Ari as anything but a malicious threat.

Ziva lifted her chin.

"It is not true," she said stiffly.

Gibbs looked upon her silently, his eyes searching hers. She did not look at him, but she did not blink, either. Her lashes moved ever so slightly and she parted her lips, looking at Ari with an unreadable expression.

"The things he said about Jenny," Ziva remarked coolly. "She refused his advances. Women did not regularly turn Ari down. He did not forget it." Ziva paused. "Madeleine is," she began.

"I know," Gibbs said gruffly.

He did not need Ziva to tell him his daughter was his daughter. Jenny, who had jumped through hoops to make this work, who had tried to contact him over oceans and continents, would not have done so just so she would have a father for some other man's child. Had Madeleine not been his, Jenny would have had an abortion.

Gibbs tilted is head at Ziva.

"Wouldn't have mattered," he said gruffly.

If Ari had expected Gibbs to abandon Madeleine just for her paternity, he was the biggest fool to ever walk the earth.

"You would raise another man's child?" Ziva asked, her voice skeptical.

"I love Emmy," Gibbs said bluntly. He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and slipped his hand into Ziva's. "Kids aren't responsible for the sins of the fathers," he said pointedly.

She bowed her head, and her dark hair shielded her face. He gave her hand a tight, comforting squeeze and left her, his fingers sliding away from hers until she let go of him. He went up the steps slowly, leaving her alone for a moment, and as he sat on his couch upstairs, scratching the loyal dog's ears and waiting for her to compose herself so they could move forward, he heard a song of Hebrew mourning up the stairs.

* * *

><p>When Ziva joined him upstairs, there was no trace of sadness on her face, though Gibbs could detect a slight redness in her eyes that had not been there before.<p>

Gibbs held his phone in his hands, preparing to call the appropriate authorities. It wouldn't be NCIS who would come to the scene; it would be the FBI. Fornell was going to take this one. He turned the cell over and over, sitting in the silence. He wanted Ziva to speak first, and he would wait forever if that was how long she needed.

"I will contact my father immediately," she said finally, her voice cool. "He will be anxious to know that the situation has been neutralized."

"You tell him I ended it, Ziva," Gibbs said gruffly, trying to catch her eye. She did not look at him, but shook her head curtly.

"I will not shirk the responsibility," she said. "I shot him. That my father should know," she paused, a bitter look creeping across her lips. "His actions over the years provoked this."

Gibbs tilted his head heavily.

"You believe what Ari said about your father?" he asked gruffly.

Ziva did not answer for a moment. She locked her hands behind her back, and then she did look at him.

"He ordered Tali not to volunteer at the Tel Aviv location that day," she revealed stiffly. "He forbade it. There was some excuse. Tali snuck out. She was never supposed to be in the streets that day."

Ziva let the statement hang in the air. Perhaps Eli David had indeed had the intelligence about an attack and allowed it to happen so as to give Israel cause for violent response. Gibbs didn't know what to believe, and Ziva was clearly conflicted. They would certainly never know the truth of it.

He set his jaw, lifting his hands to his mouth, still holding his phone.

"Ziver," he said gruffly. He saw her brows knit slightly at the moniker. "Stay with us until this blows over."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Us?"

"Me 'n' Jen," he clarified. He shrugged his shoulders.

She studied him for a long time.

"I will not run from my father," she said finally. "It is my duty to escort Ari's body to Israel," she paused. "This is not over for me. There is plutonium to recover. I must fix Ari's betrayal before I can rest."

Gibbs snorted tiredly, giving her a sad look. He felt the last thing she needed to do was immerse herself in some mission for Mossad, but if that was how she wanted to recover from this, he couldn't fight her. He was the poster child for handling tragedy poorly, and he had no advice to give—save for past experience, and what he'd learned. Things like that, though, had to be learned _through_ experience.

Ziva inclined her head purposefully.

"Alert your law enforcement," she said curtly. "Allow them to process the scene."

"No hurry," Gibbs growled.

Ziva nodded her head sharply.

"There is," she insisted. "You have a funeral to attend."

"Ziva—"

"I could not prevent Agent Todd's death," Ziva said bluntly. "I will not be responsible for you missing her memorial service. You have a flight to catch."

Gibbs stood up, opening his phone. He walked closer, his hand lingering over the button that would get Fornell on the line for him. Ziva was so young. She may have the eyes of the oldest warrior in the world, but she was so _young_. He remembered the woman who had cried for her sister, and the man who called himself a father to her. He clenched his jaw and pressed the call button, holding the phone to his ear.

"I owe you, Ziva," he said sternly, touching her shoulder.

Her lips twitched upwards, just barely.

"I'll collect, Jethro," she said quietly, eyeing him intently.

Though he was sure it startled her, he slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a hug.

* * *

><p>Though she knew they were all smarting from her heartless display of authority these past few days, Jenny had no choice but to sit with the group from NCIS at the funeral service for a woman she had barely known. It was a Catholic service, and thus included a full mass—something Jenny was tediously familiar with—and she counted on having to watch Madeleine like a hawk throughout the whole thing.<p>

She was wrong, however.

Madeleine was still and silent the entire time. Save for the moment she shifted to her knees and crawled from the uncomfortable wooden pew into Jenny's lap so she could lay her head against her mother's breast for comfort, she didn't make a sound—of complaint, boredom, or _anything_.

She had never been to a funeral before, and she instinctively knew that this was a solemn occasion. Jenny had quietly tried to explain what it all meant, and she wasn't sure Madeleine had listened, but it seemed she _got it_ anyway.

Madeleine wore a dress that she said Abby had brought her from Louisiana, and shoes she insisted Kate bought her on a secret shopping trip. She had listened avidly to Abby's description of what funerals were like in the parishes, and spent some time on the jet giggling quietly at how DiNozzo and McGee picked at each other like antsy siblings. She hadn't once let Jenny out of her sight, even to go to the bathroom.

She did, at one point, twist onto her side on one of the private jet's seats, blink at Jenny with big green eyes, and ask: "Are you taking me away from Daddy because he's going to get killed?"

Jenny hadn't known what to say, so unexpected was the question, and to her eternal gratitude, DiNozzo had blithely defused the situation.

"I told you nothing can kill the Boss," he said blithely.

Jenny smiled slightly at the thought and smoothed her hand over her daughter's hair, resting her chin on Madeleine's head. She listened respectfully as Kate's brother, then her sister, talked about her, and finally as McGee got up and said a few words. Kate's family had asked that someone from her team speak about her briefly so as to inform on her job, and DiNozzo had hastily pawned the task off to the probationary agent. McGee, for what it was worth, did a beautiful job.

"Can I say something, Mommy?" Madeleine asked very quietly, her voice polite.

Jenny shook her head slightly.

"There isn't enough time for everyone who loved Kate to talk," she soothed. She tilted her head, keeping her voice very low. "You can tell me what you would say."

Madeleine turned her head, resting it against Jenny's shoulder so her lips were closer to her ear.

"Narnia needed Kate more than we do," she whispered mystically. She spoke in a thoughtful train, murmuring things as they came to mind, just talking about Kate. Jenny listened intently, her eyes on the priest, well aware that DiNozzo was hanging on every word.

McGee was taking his seat again, and he glanced over at Madeleine and Jenny. DiNozzo checked a watch next to him, and Jenny resisted the urge to reach into Madeleine's coat pocket and check hers.

The service was drawing to a close, and they were all thinking the same thing—_where was Gibbs?_

* * *

><p>The journey that took him from D.C. to Indiana felt considerably like a trip down the rabbit hole to Wonderland. He had a bitch of a time getting a flight that had no layovers, as layovers would have made it impossible for him to make the service. As it turned out, his flight was delayed, and he had a hell of a time finding out where he was supposed to go when he landed in Indiana. He acquired the necessary information and reached the church only to find that the procession had relocated to the gravesite; he had missed the Mass aspect of the memorial. After the most expensive cab ride of his life, he was finally walking slowly across the mossy, perfect looking grass of a cemetery, dragging his feet more and more as the crowd of people by the open ground loomed larger.<p>

He soon discovered that this service was at its end, as well. A line of people was forming to pay respects to Kate, and he quietly stepped up to the end of it. It was just pure luck—or possibly fate smiling on him—that Jenny was at the end of the line. She had no doubt thought it best to let everyone else go first; she was a stranger to them all.

Madeleine peeked around to see who was there and gave a small gasp when she saw him. She reached up and he picked her up easily, pressing kisses to her cheeks and forehead. She snuggled against him instantly, tucking her head under his shoulder. He pressed his hand to Jen's lower back, and she turned her head, glancing at him through her glasses.

"What happened?" she asked quietly. It took him a split second to realize she'd spoken French; she didn't want Madeleine to understand them. He took her cue, but his French had never been good and he didn't remember a damn bit of it, so he answered in Russian, and hoped she remembered hers well enough.

"Ziva is escorting the body back to Israel."

Jenny looked blank for a moment, then worked through it and nodded. Madeleine touched Gibbs' chin and poked his cheek, shaking her head.

"No fair," she mumbled. "What did you say to Mommy?"

"You're safe now," Gibbs answered, gently poking Madeleine's stomach. She mustered a small smile. Madeleine looked to Jenny for confirmation, and Jenny nodded, stopping for a moment and turning around slightly.

Madeleine turned up her nose a little.

"I am always safe with Aba," she scoffed.

Jenny smiled, her lashes moving rapidly. She put her hands on Madeleine's shoulders and squeezed before she turned to move up, plucking a rose from the bouquet in the same manner as everyone else so she could lay it on the coffin.

Gibbs paused so Madeleine could grab one, and she did, hesitating a moment.

"Can I take two, Daddy? May I lay down yours?"

He nodded simply, and she took another, smiling shyly at the Priest who watched her. Gibbs carried her to the coffin and bent over slightly, so she could lay her roses among the bed of others on top of Kate's coffin. Madeleine's necklace dangled in the air, and she pressed her fingers to her lips, blowing a little kiss.

"_Toda_," she murmured. She laughed, at what, Gibbs didn't know. "For saving Daddy!"

Gibbs stroked Madeleine's hair. He looked down at the closed coffin for a long moment, thinking quietly about Kate. There was time for more grief now that Ari was gone, but all he could see was her smiling at him in that knowing sort of way she used to smile.

"You're late for my funeral, Gibbs," she seemed to tease him.

He smiled a little, his eyes running over the smooth lacquer on the coffin.

He apologized with gruff sincerity:

"Sorry, Kate."

* * *

><p>They did not stay long at the site; Abby, parasol in hand, played her traditional jazz music as they headed towards the cars that Jenny had arranged to escort them back to the jet. Kate's family wanted time to grieve amongst themselves, and after quiet, formal respects were paid, the NCIS party was retreating back to D.C.<p>

"Ziva?" Jenny asked quietly, as Gibbs' rested his hand on her back and led them away from the funeral plot. Madeleine walked ahead of them, holding the edges of her skirt like a little lady.

Gibbs inclined his head closer to Jen's and shrugged.

"Who fired the shot?" Jenny pressed.

The look in his eyes was tense.

"Keep some plausible deniability, Jen," he advised.

She nodded quietly.

"Madeleine, button your coat," she said gently, disliking how the little trench flapped in the wind. It was chilly, but Madeleine didn't seem to be noticing right now. She didn't listen to Jenny, and Gibbs snapped at her, pointing to his side.

She walked back to him. He gave her a stern glare, and she buttoned her coat as if he were mentally commanding her to. Secretly impressed, Jenny rolled her eyes to express her flippant annoyance.

"I like Abby's music," Madeleine said, looking up at them. She swung Gibbs' hand. "Kate's sister Rachel said I'm cute," she added.

"You are cute," Gibbs retorted, deadpan.

Madeleine beamed.

"Is Ziva still here?" she asked.

Gibbs shook his head.

"Why?"

"She has to take Ari back to Israel," Gibbs said gruffly.

"Is he in trouble?" Madeleine asked sternly.

"He's gone, Emmy," Gibbs answered firmly. "He will never come near us or hurt you again."

Madeleine pondered that for a moment.

"Okay," she said softly. "Can Ziva stay here?" she inquired abruptly. "She is sad in Israel."

"How do you know if she's sad, Madeleine?" Jenny asked quietly.

"How do you _not_?" retorted Madeleine sassily, putting her free hand on her hip. She still swung Gibbs' hand in her other. She cocked her little brows. "Her family all died except her Aba, and he never has time for her," Madeleine asserted astutely. "Ziva said I am lucky to have Jethro."

Jenny laughed.

"Don't call your father _Jethro_," she chastised, amused. It sounded so odd coming out of a fiver-year-old's mouth.

Madeleine crinkled her nose.

"It will be Hanukah soon," Madeleine insisted. "Ima, tell Ziva to stay."

Jenny tilted her head thoughtfully. She had no real power over Ziva—

"Why is it so important to you, M?" Gibbs asked finally.

"I love her!" Madeleine retorted sternly. She pointed outwards. "Also, I want her to marry Pony!"

DiNozzo whirled around and made an outraged noise.

"No, Maddie, that woman is a crazy scary—" mid sentence, he caught the mutinous look on Jenny's face and changed his tune, "—kind, lovely, wonderful role model."

Gibbs glared at DiNozzo and then raised an eyebrow at his daughter.

"Don't you think Ziva deserves better than him?" he asked, jerking his thumb at his senior agent. DiNozzo made _another_ outraged noise.

Madeleine planted her feet stubbornly.

"Pony is better than everyone," she said with a glare.

Gibbs raised his eyebrows and pointed to himself.

"Pony taught me not to talk to predators," Madeleine spouted off, calling to mind the ill-fated conversation DiNozzo had with Kate's ghost. DiNozzo blanched, winced, and began slinking off.

"What?" Gibbs growled, confused. Jenny cocked her eyebrows. McGee looked positively gleeful suddenly.

"_And_ he said Kate did not like sex."

DiNozzo let out a squawk of fear at the look on Gibbs' face.

Gibbs stopped, turned to Jenny, and placed Madeleine's hand in her mother's tightly.

"Hold this," he muttered.

He began advancing on DiNozzo.

"Boss," Tony began, holding up his hands. "Boss, we're in a cemetery."

"Good," snapped Gibbs. "Easier to bury you."

DiNozzo squeaked, tried to run, and tripped backwards over an ill-placed tombstone. Abby shut off her jazz music, her eyebrows going up.

"She doesn't know what she's saying, Gibbs. You know she gets confused, she's little—like that time she told us all you slept with—" DiNozzo pointed wildly at Jenny, but none of his excuses deterred Gibbs from his pursuit.

"Help!" chirped DiNozzo.

Jenny looked down at Madeleine.

"You old gossip," she said mildly.

Madeleine swung _her_ hand back and forth and grinned at her.

* * *

><p>Miraculously, DiNozzo made it back to the jet without physical injury, and once they were in the air, the jet engines lulled Madeleine to sleep in Jenny's lap. Gibbs spent half an hour glaring violently at Abby, McGee, and DiNozzo—as they were all sitting in chairs close to one another, conspiring in low voices and shooting furtive glances at Jenny. Ducky was not being so invasive at all; he was content to quietly chat with Jenny over Madeleine's sleeping head.<p>

Gibbs finally got up and prowled over to the motley crew, glaring boldly at them all. He then did something not a single one of them expected.

"If you have questions, ask them now," he ordered shortly.

Behind him, Jenny stopped mid-sentence with Ducky, and raised her eyebrows in mild shock. Had he just—had Jethro just—invited queries into their personal affairs?

The three stooges in front of him looked dumbstruck for a moment, before Abby gave a light smile, and DiNozzo fired off a question.

"Are you guys married?" he asked.

"No."

"Are you _getting_ married?" Abby asked perkily, giving Gibbs a knowing look. She knew more than any of them; she was just seizing the opportunity.

An annoyed look crossed Gibbs' face, and he set his jaw. He heard Jenny snicker primly behind him.

"Doubt it," he retorted.

"Is it because you already divorced her?" DiNozzo asked seriously.

Gibbs head-slapped him.

"Hey, you said we could ask questions!" whined Tony, rubbing his head.

"_Real_ questions," snarled Gibbs.

McGee hesitated, and then spoke up, flushing.

"Are you guys, uh, together, then?"

Gibbs nodded once.

"So how does the Director thing work?" DiNozzo asked loudly. "Do you just say _yes dear_ to everything she says? If she's your girlfriend and your Boss, do you literally have no power at all?"

"She's your Boss, too, DiNozzo," growled Gibbs pointedly.

DiNozzo frowned, suddenly remembering. He nodded and turned around, arching his neck.

"Sorry about that comment about your dress," he remarked mildly.

Gibbs crowded him menacingly.

"What _comment_?"

DiNozzo shrank away timidly. Jenny laughed, but when Gibbs looked at her, she sealed her lips.

McGee cleared his throat.

"Have you, uh, always been NCIS, ma'am?" he asked Jenny directly.

She nodded once.

"Yes, Agent McGee."

"Did you and Gibbs meet when he was agent afloat?" McGee continued.

"No, he was dating Stephanie then," DiNozzo spoke up—how he knew that, Gibbs couldn't explain.

McGee nodded.

"So, uh, how did you guys, you know, end up together? If you were, uh, overseas all the time?" McGee asked.

Jenny lowered her eyes thoughtfully, cruelly leaving it to Gibbs to answer. Gibbs glared around him, caught between a rock and a hard place. He hadn't expected to be asked that, and he sure as hell didn't want to tell DiNozzo just exactly how he and Jenny had _hooked_ up—

"Oh, McGee. Director Shepard was Gibbs' Probie in the nineties."

-and he didn't have to, because Abby took great pleasure in doing it for him.

* * *

><p>His house was still a crime scene, so they settled themselves at the brownstone in Georgetown upon their return to the city. Jenny enforced mandatory vacation for Gibbs' team, including Abby, ordering them not to show up for work for three days. She offered the same to Gibbs, and he shocked her by accepting.<p>

"Need to smooth things out with Madeleine's school," he explained gruffly, laying his keys, gun, and badge on the table as quietly as possible. Madeleine was still asleep in his arms. "She missed several days without me notifying them." He paused for a moment. "Need to spend some time with her to get her used to the idea of this," he gestured between them.

Jenny smiled half-heartedly, thinking the prospect of all of this daunting.

"She has a room here?" she asked, brushing off a heavy conversation. Gibbs nodded, and gestured up the stairs—he was remembering suddenly that Jenny had never seen the room he'd created for Madeleine in her house. She hadn't been able to stop by when she'd been here in the summer, and she had been too preoccupied with everything else when she had stayed her for a night during the case.

He sensed she was holding her breath as she opened the door, and he followed her in with Madeleine, watching her take it in. It was still the same pale leaf green he'd painted it years and years ago, and all of the furniture was white. He had spent time detailing the bed frame and the bureaus with purple flowers, and in the corner sat the rocking horse he'd once carved her and a delicate dollhouse Noemi said had been Jenny's when she was so young that she hadn't yet scorned Barbie dolls. This room was cleaner and less lived in than the one at his house, but it was beautiful.

Jenny walked in, pacing in a slow circle, her eyes wide. She reached out for the bedpost, her fingers running alongside the silky material draped high over it.

"I always wanted a canopy," she said quietly, looking up at the dark, leafy green roof Madeleine slept under when she was here. It matched the green bedclothes and a green rug on the floor. Jenny looked at him softly. "This is perfect, Jethro."

He shrugged it off and carried Madeleine to the bed. He shook her gently.

"Put your pajamas on, Emmy Jane," he coaxed quietly.

In a haze, she roused herself a little and he helped her out of her itchy funeral dress and into a pair of well-loved cotton pajamas. They were meant for little boys, but they had Yoda on them, and when she'd seen them she insisted she have them.

Jenny hung back and watched as Madeleine situated herself in her sleep clothes and then obediently went to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

"I'm not very tired anymore," she said suspiciously, when she came back and showed Gibbs her smile so he could check to see that she'd done a good job.

"You slept a lot on the plane," Gibbs answered. He pointed to her digital clock. "It's late, honey. You have to go to bed."

Madeleine rubbed her eyes. She picked up her brush off the bedside table and handed it to him, turning around. He sat down on a stool he kept by her bed and started to brush, aware of Jenny's eyes on him.

"Everything feels weird," Madeleine said slowly, still groggy. "No boat, no Oz, but lots of Mommy," she murmured.

Gibbs nodded, working out tangles in her auburn hair gently.

"_Lots_ of Mommy," he agreed. "For the rest of your life, Emmy," he said dryly. "You're never getting rid of her again."

Madeleine giggled softly.

"Oz is safe," he added. "Mr. Tobias is taking care of him for a few days."

"Mrs. Diane hates dogs," Madeleine said solemnly.

Jenny clicked her tongue in what sounded like a suspiciously _smug_ way. Gibbs shot her a wry look and continued brushing until Madeleine's hair was soft as feathers, tangle-free, and static with smoothness. He smoothed it all down and kissed the crown of her head. Madeleine went to her bookshelf and picked up a book. She took it to Jenny.

"Will you read to me?" she asked, tapping the cover. "It's about Narnia. Kate's there."

Jenny took the book, and nodded, leading Madeleine towards the bed. She waited until Madeleine had climbed up, and sat down, leaning closer with the book close to her chest. She nodded, smiling contently. Gibbs stood and walked towards the door.

"Jethro?" Jenny asked.

He shook his head.

"You two," he said gruffly.

He needed a minute alone, to think about Kate. Jenny nodded in silent understanding, and he did watch her read for a while, taking relief in the simple truth that Jenny was here, and she was here for good, and she could read to Madeleine every night if that was what their daughter wanted.

He walked away quietly, hiding himself in the study with a crystal full of whiskey.

* * *

><p>Madeleine fell asleep, and Jenny spent another half hour lying next to her, listening to her breathe—the very same way she used to do when she was just an infant. She finally got up and changed out of her wrinkled funeral clothes. Her things were still in transit from Egypt, and she was relieved to find a selection of Gibbs' clothing mixed into her drawers. She chose an overlarge t-shirt and kept her panties on, twisting her hair into a braid before she went looking for him.<p>

She found him in her father's study, and she turned a lamp on. He was holding an empty glass to his forehead, his jaw tight. He seemed to be—thinking. Mourning, most likely. She was quiet as she sat down next to him and placed her hand on his knee.

There was so much coming in the next few weeks, and most of it would strain things between them. He needed a moment right now to be silent and wallow in whatever he'd pent up during the manhunt for Ari, and to steel himself for whatever he might have to face.

He moved his head slightly, his jaw flexing.

"Kate shouldn't have died," he growled hoarsely.

Jenny nodded in agreement. She rubbed his thigh soothingly, her hand warm through his wrinkled suit pants. She leaned back and took the glass from him, setting it aside on the couch. It was empty; it didn't matter if it rolled along the cushions. She rested her head back and put her other hand on his shoulder, kneading gently.

"She wanted kids," Gibbs said dully. He shook his head again. His muscles were tense, and Jenny kneaded more insistently.

"It wasn't your fault, Jethro," she comforted finally, her voice low and soothing.

He leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. She rested her hand on his chest, stilling its movements, and felt his heart beat. He didn't even blink; he was focusing so hard on the ceiling, as if he could see right through it to Madeleine.

"He said Madeleine was his," Gibbs said dryly.

Her fingertips pressed into him.

"She's auburn-haired and green-eyed," she remarked lightly. Gibbs nodded. He hadn't believed it for a second, but there was something desperate in the fact that Ari had chosen that sort of lie to play with his mind.

"Maybe Ari wanted children, too," Jenny muttered.

Gibbs shrugged.

"Would've changed him," he said gruffly.

Jenny smiled skeptically.

"You said he was evil, through and through."

"Kid would've changed that," Gibbs said stubbornly.

Jenny shrugged her shoulders. She wasn't so sure she believed that.

"Said it yourself, Jen," Gibbs reminded her. "You couldn't execute a target after Madeleine was born. You saw parents where you'd seen targets."

Jenny bit her lip. Gibbs turned and looked at her, his eyes searching hers.

"Kids," he muttered bluntly. "You miss out on something without them."

Jenny slid her hand up the back of his neck, playing with his hair. She felt a thousand overwhelming things, and her eyes and her throat stung. She didn't know why she felt like she needed to say it, but she was thinking of the child he'd lost.

"I'm so sorry you lost her, Jethro," she said hoarsely. "Kelly."

He looked at her intently, and his bow furrowed.

"I wouldn't have had Madeleine," he said, and he looked conflicted himself by the statement. He hadn't yet come to a point where he whole-heartedly accepted the heartache in his life and understood that he shouldn't waste his time with what-ifs.

Jenny's fingers twisted in his hair.

"I would have missed out on something, then," she said.

It had all been worth it. Every single, terrifying moment from the moment she'd found out she was pregnant, when she was alone in a foreign country.

All worth it, because of the child asleep upstairs.

She brushed his jaw with her knuckles.

"I love you," she muttered, leaning forward to kiss his neck.

She sat up straighter, pressing herself closer, and he took her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles.

"I love you," he mumbled back, his lips moving against her ear. "Director," he added sarcastically.

She laughed and put her arms around his neck, finding his mouth with hers.

"Bed," she insisted quietly. "Let's go to bed."

* * *

><p>She had, in accordance with Gibbs's rules of parenthood, slipped back into her T-shirt and panties, but she crawled back onto him and sprawled lazily on his chest, her hair spilling out over his shoulders. He ran his fingers through it, twisting it and knotting it and smugly basking in the scent.<p>

He thought about Jenny in his bed for the rest of his life, and he smirked. She yawned lazily and traced circles on his chest with her manicured nail, tilting her head up to look at him.

"You have to listen to me at work," she said mildly.

"No."

"It isn't up for discussion."

He rolled his eyes.

"You have to pretend to fight me," she announced dramatically.

He snorted, and she arched a brow. They both knew damn well that, more often than not, his shoot-first, ask-later policy would clash with her politics and there would be no faking it, not up in the Director's office.

"I meant it, about calling me ma'am."

"Kinky," he growled.

She laughed lightly. She shifted her head and he felt her swallow, her face taking on a different look as the laughter faded and uncertainty crept in.

"Where are we going to live?" she asked.

He shrugged.

"Madeleine likes my house. She lives there," he pointed out.

Jenny nodded.

"I don't know if we can live together," she said, stress creeping into her voice. "We haven't—we've never—our relationship has never been functional or normal. What if we try this—and it falls apart?"

"Emmy hears you say _try_, and she'll quote Yoda at you," Gibbs said, deadpan.

Jenny bit her lip.

"It's not you or me, it's both—what if we disagree on a rule or a punishment for her? What if she can't adjust easily, or she decides she doesn't like it," Jenny paused. She sighed and shoved her hair back, effectively ripping it out of his hands.

He glared at her, and she buried her face in his chest.

"How are we going to do this, Jethro?" she asked simply, her lips brushing his skin, muffling her words. "What if _normal_ tears us apart?"

He scoffed at the word.

"Madeleine's a _weird_ kid," he drawled. "She's the crazy glue."

Jenny gave a shaky laugh, but she gripped his shoulders.

"Give me somethin', Jethro," she pleaded hoarsely.

"Marry me first, _ma'am_," he retorted petulantly.

She lifted her head and glared at him.

"You bastard. I'm going back to Egypt," she growled at him sarcastically. Her eyes met his earnestly, and she chastised him silently for joking with her. She swallowed, and her lips parted. "I am _scared_, Jethro," she whispered.

He cocked his head, looking intently right back at her. His hand moved into her hair, and he tangled it up, resting it right where it was supposed to be. He lay there silently, just studying her, reveling in the feel of her body on top of him, her warm heartbeat resting against his.

He shrugged.

"Why?" he asked simply.

He was so confident, and the way he blew off her fears was so perfect, that she let out an audible breath. She smiled and lowered her lips to his, her mouth opening to welcome a deep kiss. She shifted until she was straddling him again, and he wrapped his arms around her back tightly.

"We'll figure it out, Jen," he muttered gruffly.

Hadn't they always _figured it out_?

Her hands roamed down his chest to his boxers, and she slipped her hands below the waistband, her lips moving along his jaw. He tilted his head back and clenched his jaw—

-the door opened and Madeleine walked _right_ on in.

Gibbs smacked Jenny lightly on her thigh to give her warning, and with a muttered curse, she rolled off of him gracefully and instead positioned herself lying at his side, one hand supporting her head and one resting innocently on her hip.

Madeleine trotted to the edge of their bed and peered at them, stuffed animal in hand.

"Are you guys awake?" she mumbled, blinking sleepy eyes. "I saw your light on."

"Whatsamatter?" Gibbs asked gruffly, yanking the sheets over his legs.

Jenny rubbed her nose, her face red. She cleared her throat, biting her lower lip.

"I had a bad dream," Madeleine said solemnly, resting her chin on the bed. "Mommy didn't stay; she just went away again."

Jenny patted the bed gently, and Madeleine climbed up, crawling forward on her hands and knees. Her hair was sticking to her face and sticking out in odd places, and Jenny combed her fingers through it maternally, fixing it almost instinctively.

"I am not going away again," she said with gentle firmness. "I am here to stay. I can see all your baseball games and ice skating recitals and read you to sleep and paint your nails and braid your hair until you're so sick of me you lock yourself in your room and tell your friends how, like, _totally_ unfair I am."

The joke went over Madeleine's head, but Gibbs snorted, amused. He rubbed Madeleine's back comfortingly.

"She's here for good, Emmy."

Madeleine looked between them. She bit her lip.

"I want to sleep in here," she ventured uncertainly. "One night, _please. _Please?"

Jenny shared a look with Gibbs, and he rolled his eyes, nodding his head slowly. Jenny nodded to Madeleine in turn, and tapped her under the chin affectionately, wrinkling her nose. Madeleine beamed and threw herself down between them. Jenny raised her eyes at Gibbs, and he shrugged his shoulders.

"Welcome to normal," he teased dryly.

She bit her lip and grinned.

"Mama." Madeleine twisted her head and looked up at Jenny, blinking startling green eyes. Jenny raised her eyebrows and waited gallantly. "Ziva told me this is your _aliyah_."

Jenny nodded, laying down and curling up. Her legs touched Gibbs' under the covers, and Madeleine snuggled close to both of them.

"Ziva is very wise," she said, agreeing.

Gibbs turned towards them. He kissed Madeleine's head instinctively.

"What's it mean?" he asked gruffly.

Jenny thought about it, considering the translation. It was a Jewish term, really, used to reference their immigration to the homeland, but she understood that Ziva was using it to mean Jenny was going _home_.

"Return to where I belong," she decided.

Gibbs smirked at her. He reached over Madeleine's head and pulled strands of Jenny's long red hair towards him, playing with them again.

This _was_ her aliyah, and this was her family, and when she thought of everything that had conspired to bring them to this moment—she suddenly knew whole-heartedly that they would do what they did best and figure it out.

Gibbs furrowed his brow suddenly, cocking his brow at Jenny.

"What was that word?" he asked gruffly. "Ziva taught it to me at the airport five years ago. Hebrew?"

Out of the blue, Madeleine correctly guessed, and she answered in a sleepy, content murmured:

"Mishpokhe."

* * *

><p><em>The End<em>

* * *

><p><em>Naturally, there will be an epilogue: I'm basically an epilogue whore; I think every good story should have one. I'm not going to make you wait a ridiculous amount of time, but I will let the end of this sink in a few day and read reactions before I start writingpost it. I am immensely glad to be finished with this behemoth of a story, and so glad I have time to devote to other projects!_

_It has been a wild n' crazy ride, and I am so so grateful to those of you who stuck with me even when I abandoned it for 8 months. You are all invaluable people and you made this happen, particularly YOU** JibbsGal1**, since you put up with me and beta'd for me and basically let me bitch and moan to you and what not. _

_be forewarned; the epilogue has a time jump.  
>shalom!<br>-alexandra _


	16. Shalom

_Epilogue_

* * *

><p><em>Late August<em>  
><em>2016<em>

* * *

><p>Madeleine Jane Gibbs slammed her locker shut. She tilted her head and twisted the combination lock delicately, intent on setting it so that between her next two classes, all she had to do was spin it to the last number. She was just turning to the second numeral when there was a sharp tug on the ends of her long hair. Her arm jerked, and she spun the lock too far.<p>

Frowning, the sixteen-year-old turned around and arched an eyebrow at one of her best friends.

Lauren Murray grinned at her smugly. She wasted no time in jumping straight to the point.

"Come to Bonfire," she coaxed.

It had been Lauren's mantra for the past two months, and it seemed no matter how many times Madeleine stalwartly refused her, she kept pushing.

Madeleine rolled her eyes.

"No," she said firmly, starting past Lauren.

Lauren intercepted her and pushed her back against her locker, shoving her arm into Madeleine's chest. Madeleine giggled and raised her eyebrows, but Lauren just glared at her sternly.

"You have to come," Laruen insisted. "MJ," she whined pitifully, widening her brown eyes.

Madeleine turned up her nose.

"For the _last_ time, Lauren, I cannot _go_," she retorted seriously.

"But I'm a senior," Lauren protested, "and I'm graduating, and I want to have my little MJ at Bonfire with me!" she puckered her lips and glared at her friend. "_Michael Winston_ asked you to go _with_ him, anyway, how do you turn that down?"

Madeleine cocked her brow.

"My dad turned that one down for me," she laughed. She shoved Lauren away playfully and put a hand on her hip, taking the other girl's shoulder firmly and gripping it. She glared at her pointedly. "Lauren Murray, this is the last time I will tell you, I am _not_ going to Bonfire."

Lauren pouted and stomped her foot. Madeleine forcefully turned her shoulder so they could head towards their next class. Checking the clock on her cell phone, Madeleine noted she had four minutes to get there—plenty of time, but then again, her history teacher didn't care if students were late.

"What is that excuse you keep using, anyway?" Lauren groused, popping a piece of gum in her mouth.

Madeleine shoved her phone back into her pocket and raised her eyebrows, brushing bangs out of her face.

"Oh, that excuse, um, let me remember…it was lame, wasn't it, um," Madeleine pretended to think and rolled her eyes sarcastically. "Oh yeah, _my parents are getting married_," she pointed out.

Lauren snorted and held up her palms, making a face.

"Well, pardon me," she drawled. "I didn't even realize they _weren't_ married until you came screaming to the tournament shouting that they were _getting_ married." Lauren turned up her head thoughtfully.

"You didn't notice my mom doesn't use Daddy's last name?"

Lauren shrugged.

"I thought it was because Jenny's a badass," she said logically, hopping down the stairs to get to the history hallway. She turned around, taking them backwards in a surprisingly graceful manner.

"You're going to fall," Madeleine pointed out skeptically.

"Nuh-uh," retorted Lauren boldly, chewing her gum thoughtfully again. "You know old Gibbs picked Bonfire weekend on purpose," she griped.

Madeleine smirked. Her father was notorious for his completely unnatural ability to roadblock any teenage situation Madeleine might even _think_ of getting herself into, from Homecoming dance to a Summer trip overseas with her softball team.

Bonfire was an event the seniors at Madeleine's school organized every year to kick off the football season. It was generally held the last week of August after the first game, and it was probably a lot of fun. It was also a fairly stereotypical teenage scene as far as drinking and bad decision-making went, and even if she hadn't been prohibited from attending, Madeleine wasn't sure she'd want to.

"Actually, my mom nixed Bonfire," Madeleine said. "She thinks the whole thing sounds like a night in jail waiting to happen, and since I just turned sixteen, I'm too young. She said I could go next year."

"But you won't," Lauren guessed.

"Not even if Henry Cavill asks me," Madeleine swore.

On the ground floor, Lauren righted herself and fell into step beside Madeleine again. Outside of the history hallway, she turned and leaned against a wall, tilting her head with interest.

"If your parents didn't get married when you were born, why all of a sudden?" she asked.

Madeleine grinned wryly.

"Mom lost a bet."

Lauren lifted her eyebrows.

"Seriously?" she asked skeptically, and as Madeleine nodded, she snorted in disbelief. "I guess that _sounds_ like your mom," she said. "That's so un-romantic, though."

"Dad bought her a really big ring."

"Oh. _That's_ romantic," Lauren said seriously. She smiled a little, though, tilting her head. "Jenny is still on the short list to be named Secretary of State if Hillary Clinton gets elected, right?"

Madeleine nodded proudly, checking her phone for the time again. The bell would ring in about two minutes. Lauren snorted in amusement.

"Then is your dad _aware_ that your mom probably only agreed to get married because if she gets the Clinton nomination, it will be a political nightmare if she's living with her lover and bastard daughter?"

Madeleine quickly put a finger to Lauren's lips and glared at her sternly.

"We aren't allowed to tell Daddy that," she said swiftly. "He won the bet, that's the end of it."

"Your mom lets him think he won a bet, but she set it up in the first place?" Lauren asked, outraged. "Your dad thinks he tricked her, and she tricked him into thinking that so—she _wants_ to get married, she just doesn't want to admit it?"

Madeleine winked at Lauren. Madeleine and her mother both knew that a quick, sweet little wedding was the surest way to nip far-right criticisms in the bud when the time for the nomination to be announced came. That, and Madeleine liked to think her mother _loved_ her father.

Madeleine sidestepped Lauren and started to her class. Lauren whipped around and stomped her foot.

"But that's just _semantics_!" she accused, outraged.

Madeleine spun around, walking backwards towards the History room. She laughed.

"That's how Mom lost the bet!"

* * *

><p>Her last block of the day was study hall, and it was presided over by her softball coach, so Madeleine was free to prop her feet on the back of the seat in front of her. Thanks to a grueling lecture in her AP History class that had taken all of her brainpower, she had no intention of starting her homework now. Her parent's wedding was tomorrow, and she reserved Friday nights for relaxing, so it looked like she'd be doing everything Sunday afternoon.<p>

Study hall was lax, and Coach didn't care if students had their cell phones out, so Madeleine's first order of business was scrolling through what she'd missed on her Twitter feed and ignoring Lauren's repeated texts _still_ attempting to convince her to come to Bonfire. She grinned as she ignored every message, biting back a smile.

She wouldn't miss her parent's wedding for the world, no matter how small and untraditional it was going to be. She had spent half of her life waiting for this day, and she could hardly believe it was about to happen—not to mention she was pretty sure she was more excited than her mother was. Madeleine had not cared much about their marital status when she was younger, but when she'd gotten into her teenage years she'd not only wanted a pretty wedding to go to—even tomboyish softball players liked pretty dresses on the side—but she'd become fascinated with the constant battle of wills her mother and father had when it came to the whole issue.

It was no secret that Jenny Shepard and Leroy Jethro Gibbs were not breaking up, ever, and yet time and time again she had _refused_ to marry him and he had _stubbornly_ refused to stop harassing her to do so. Madeleine was sure the first time her mother turned Dad down had been somewhat more of a sobering event, but over the years it had become a matter of pride between the two of them: neither wanted to give up.

Madeleine distinctly remembered the exact morning her mother essentially caved.

It had been at the end of May as Madeleine was eating breakfast before her softball tournament. They had both taken off work to travel to Vermont with her for the game, but as usual, something had gone down between their ever-warring agencies that had ticked off Dad—

_Madeleine sat at the kitchen table in her father's house, rolling her eyes good-naturedly as she listened to her parents lightly bicker. She yawned and held her eyes open wide to wake herself up. The coffee wasn't done brewing, so she was stuck with a lone bowl of Applejacks. _

_Her mother stood by the coffee maker, one hand propped on her hip. She glared at Madeleine's father. _

"_You can't admit that you screwed up," she railed. "We gave the informant immunity for a reason. We needed him to feel secure and you—"_

"_He's a _bad_ guy, Jen," Gibbs pointed out simply, holding his hands out as if he didn't care. _

"_He's a foreign diplomat, they're all bad guys!" snapped Jenny. "He's lower level, yes, but if we don't keep an eye on his superiors—"_

"_You don't trust men who betray their countries," Gibbs said stubbornly. "End of story."_

"_Even if they're _bad_ countries?" Jenny asked, arching a brow primly. "You're the one who seems to think the world is a black and white simplicity that consists of people you put in jail and people you don't, and that's fallacy, Jethro."_

"_Daddy, can I have the milk?" Madeleine interrupted quickly. _

"_Don't talk with your mouth full," Jenny reprimanded immediately, reaching over Gibbs and snatching the milk from him. She politely handed it to her daughter and put her hand right back on her hip. Madeleine grinned. It was impossible to deter her mother in situations like these. _

"_Well?" Jenny demanded._

"_I don't think the world is black and white," Gibbs growled gruffly. "Your hair's red." _

_Jenny turned to the coffee maker and yanked the glass decanter out, muttering under her breath. It sounded suspiciously like she called him an interfering, smart ass son of a bitch, but Madeleine couldn't be sure. She stole a glance at Dad, and he winked at her smugly. _

_Jenny handed Madeleine a mug of coffee and hung on to her own, giving Gibbs a defiant look. He took the point and got up to pour his own. Madeleine watched him, munching on a mouthful of cereal. _

"_You have got to stop shaking this guy down," Jenny growled. _

"_Yeah? Who's gonna make me, Madame Director?" retorted Gibbs. He still called her that sometimes, when he was feeling particularly brave. "The NSA?" _

"_As soon as I get the Attorney General to back me up," fired back Jenny. "You plan on bucking the authority of the highest law in the land?"_

_Gibbs took a sip of hot coffee._

"_Yes," he answered boldly._

_Madeleine sipped her own coffee and raised her eyebrows._

"_Don't piss off Mr. Howard, Daddy, he has a nice pool," she reminded him. She enjoyed being invited to the Howards' summer barbecues because Mr. Howard's wife was sweet and their twenty year old son was pretty to look at, but she was sure if her father ran afoul of the Attorney General one more time, they'd be permanently banned. _

_Jenny looked furious._

"_I don't want to have this fight while we're in Vermont," she insisted. "I need your word that you'll back off so we can put this behind us for Madeleine's sake."_

"_Aw, and ruin my fun?" muttered Madeleine, grinning into her mug. She put it down and went back to the cereal, checking her watch. _

"_You don't want to have this fight, then quit fightin'," retorted Gibbs bluntly. "He has connections to arms deals in the Palestinian territories. I can't reign Ziva in on this one."_

"_Don't give me that. Ziva would do anything for you," Jenny fired back. "And on another note, if you ever overrule me in a meeting like you did last Wednesday, I'll stay at the townhouse for a week and so help me God—"_

"_I didn't overrule you, you countermanded me!"_

"_Semantics!" barked Jenny._

_Gibbs glared at her and pointed at her mouth._

"_Dammit, Jenny," he growled, straightening his shoulders. "If I hear you say that one more time—"_

"_What?" goaded Jenny._

"_She can't help it, Dad," Madeleine said, mumbling through a mouthful again. Her mother glared at her, and she just grinned. "It's her favorite word. She can't go a week without saying it."_

"_Yes, I very well can," Jenny said sharply. "Madeleine, for the last time, do not talk with food in your mouth or I'll never let you out of the house again. You'd think you were raised by wolves." _

_Madeleine shrugged._

"_I'm just sayin', you already said 'semantics' to me this morning when I tried to explain the difference between an Instagram and a Vine."_

_Jenny looked slightly more perturbed to be so betrayed by her daughter, and Gibbs got a smug look on his face and snapped his fingers thoughtfully. _

"_I bet you can't go a week without sayin' it," he challenged._

_Jenny turned up her nose and scoffed. She folded her arms across her chest._

"_What's the bet?" she asked. _

"_I win," he said, and paused. He smirked. "You marry me." _

_Madeleine perked up, grinning a mile wide. Jenny frowned. She opened her mouth to speak, cocked an eyebrow, and hesitated. She glanced at her daughter, saw the excited look on her face, and tilted her head back and forth._

"_And if I win?" she asked softly. _

"_I'll never ask you again," Gibbs answered seriously. _

_Madeleine puckered her lips._

"_Aba," she whined. She gave him big, puppy dog eyes. "I like it when you ask her. It's so cute."_

"_Nothing about your father is cute, Madeleine," Jenny said dryly. She bit her lip thoughtfully a moment longer, and then nodded. She held out her hand. "You have yourself a bet, Agent Gibbs." _

_Gibbs didn't take her hand. He leaned forward and kissed her quickly on the mouth. Jenny smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ears, turning towards the sink. Gibbs strutted back to the table and sat down across from Madeleine. She grinned at him. _

"_You ready for the game, Emmy?" he asked. _

_She nodded, her ponytail swinging. _

"_I'm the youngest my school's ever had on the pitching mound, you know," she reminded him proudly._

_He grinned._

"_I know, slugger." _

_Jenny suddenly slammed something down in the sink. _

"_We aren't done with our discussion, Jethro," she snapped suddenly. "Nice try distracting me with your little bet. I still want to know if you're going to do what I tell you or continue giving me hell."_

"_You aren't my director anymore, Jen," he retorted blithely. "Vance tells me to back off, I'll back off. NSA has no business in our case."_

"_He's our informant!"_

"_No, he's our suspect."_

_Jenny pushed her thick hair out of her face and threw her hands up, tapping her foot tensely. _

"_I am so sick of your infuriating talent for semantics, I can't even have a conversation with you—"_

_She stopped abruptly, her lips still parted. Startled, Madeleine dropped her spoon with a loud clang, staring open-mouthed at her mother. Gibbs, who was shocked by nothing, lifted his eyebrows slightly, expressing mild disbelief. _

_Jenny broke the charged silence by clapping her hand over her mouth. _

"_That wasn't even two minutes, Jen," mocked Gibbs slowly, cocking his head to the side._

_Madeleine bit her lip and let out a squeal, leaping out of her chair. She expected her mother to start protesting immediately, to fight the terms of the bet, but Jenny just stood there, her hand on her lips, her eyes wide, staring at Gibbs. He got up and stalked out of the kitchen purposefully. _

"_Where's he going?" Jenny demanded tensely, her voice hoarse. _

_Madeleine grabbed the necklace at her throat and grinned madly, blowing her bangs out of her face. She danced around in a circle until she reached her mother and hugged her, burying her face near Jenny's shoulder. Jenny slowly lowered her hand and put it around Madeleine. _

"_Where did he go?" she repeated. She pulled away from her daughter and started to follow him, nearly running into him in the doorway. He caught her around the waist, and she stared at him, dumbstruck. _

"_You runnin' away from me again?" Madeleine heard him ask quietly. _

"_No," her mother answered. Gibbs stood back, holding her hand, and Madeleine inched up, arching her neck to see. His hand was in his pocket, so Madeleine clasped her hands and put them under her chin. "Don't," Jenny said. "Don't get on your knees, Jethro," she begged sternly. "I'll cry."_

"_Sore loser," he accused, drawing a white box out of his pocket—a white box Madeleine had seen in his toolbox. The outside of it was dusty and smudged with mysterious basement things, but when he popped it open, she saw that the inside definitely was not. _

_Madeleine gasped. She couldn't see her mother's reaction, but the silence was a good indicator that Jenny was both impressed and startled that he had a ring so beautiful just waiting for her. She reached out and touched the diamond, her manicured fingers running over it._

"_Where did you get this?" she asked._

"_Mexico," Gibbs retorted smugly. "That year you kicked me out." _

_She snorted, waving her hand, and tried to glare at him. Instead, she just wrapped her arms around his neck tightly, right there in the kitchen, mumbling that he was still an infuriating bastard. Madeleine whipped her cell phone out of her pocket and dashed over, managing to capture a picture of her mother hugging her father tightly while Gibbs fumbled to slip the ring onto her finger—with literally no help from Jenny. _

"_Oz," Madeleine called, and the old St. Bernard came slowly trotting out of the laundry room. "Oz," she cooed, going down on her knees and hugging him, phone still in hand. "The Parents are getting married, Oz," she whispered, burying her face in his fur._

She had pitched three perfect games at the tournament in Vermont that weekend and earned herself the permanent starting spot on her high school softball team. It was a feat she liked to attribute to her parents being so darn adorable.

They had been through a lot over the years, and she was mature enough to realize she didn't even know the half of it. Her parents were adamant that she know nothing of any serious fight or fracture that occurred in their relationship, and so she'd only really known of one or two really bad spots that had been impossible to hide.

When she was eight years old, her father had been injured badly in an explosion that put him in a coma and scrambled his brain. He had woken up thinking it was the early nineties and had constantly asked for Shannon and Kelly. Even after Ziva had snapped him out of it, he'd struggled for weeks on end—Jenny had said it was like he had to mourn and grieve all over again, and she'd kicked him out. Mike Franks had helped Jenny to try and shield Madeleine from it all, and had taken Gibbs to Mexico with him, but Madeleine still remembered the fight they'd had when Jenny told him he couldn't come back until he could stop calling Madeleine by Kelly's name.

She frowned to herself, shaking her head a little. He had been in Mexico for six months, and even though he'd called and written and done everything to make sure she knew he still loved her, she'd missed him more than anything in the world. Of course, the trip to Mexico to see if he was ready to come back had been fun. She hadn't seen him cry since she was really little and they found Kelly's lunchbox in the backyard, but he'd cried then.

He'd come back with them, but at that point Jenny had left her post at NCIS in favor of spending more time at home with Madeleine. She'd taken a position as a consultant with NSA, working part-time in linguistics. There had been another falling out a few years later that involved Ziva returning to Mossad and nearly losing her life in some African wasteland, but Madeleine had been eleven then and mostly absorbed in Abby and McGee's new baby twins.

It had always worked out. At the end of every day, her parents were sleeping in the same room and awake to see her in the morning. She knew unequivocally that there was no chance they'd break up, but to see them get married was still something she just couldn't stop smiling about.

"Gibbs," the guy in the chair in front of her turned around. "Get your feet off my chair. You're kickin' my back."

Madeleine made a face at him.

"Shut up, Aaron, you're lucky my feet are in your back," she retorted primly.

She flicked through another page of tweets on her phone, and then opened a text message she'd just received from her friend Delia.

_Is Lauren taking you home, or am I? _the text read.

Madeleine didn't have her own car, due to the unfortunate fact that she'd wrongly thought her parents were joking when they said she had to buy her own. She answered quickly. She needed Delia to do it today; she didn't want to fend of Lauren's begging again.

Madeleine tilted her head back and tossed her head, sweeping her bangs out of her face again. She grinned at no one in particular, and Aaron whipped around and knocked her feet off his chair.

* * *

><p>Delia pushed up her dark sunglasses as Madeleine opened the car door.<p>

"What time's the wedding again?" she asked, popping bubble gum loudly.

Madeleine bent down and squinted into the car, melting in the August sun.

"Eight, just after sundown," she answered. "Dad's going to light a bonfire once it cools off."

"Cool," Delia said. She frowned. "Is Emily Fornell gonna be there?" she asked.

"Yeah," Madeleine answered. "She hasn't gone back to Dartmouth yet." Madeleine grinned when Delia rolled her eyes. Emily and Delia didn't like each other, but they were civil enough in pleasant company. "Look, it'll be fine. You're not bringing Brent, so she won't act snotty."

"It doesn't matter how many times I tell Emily Fornell I didn't steal her boyfriend, she's a snot," retorted Delia. She put on a grin and shrugged. "Hey, make sure Jenny chucks the bouquet my way," she said wryly. "Right in front of Em."

"Please don't encourage my mom to piss off Diane Fornell any more than she already does," Madeleine said, rolling her eyes. She slammed the car door and waved as Delia backed out of the driveway.

Madeleine pulled her own sunglasses off and propped them on her head as she went up the front steps and opened the door. Oz didn't meet her at the door and she frowned, slightly surprised.

"Oz?" she called. He usually waited eagerly for her to get home so he could have some playtime in the backyard. "Oz!" she shouted.

She kicked off her shoes and threw her backpack down on the couch, searching through the halls. She was standing outside of her bedroom, peering inside, when her parents' door opened. She jumped, startled, and turned around.

"Mom?"

Jenny stepped outside, pulling the door almost shut behind her. She wrinkled her nose warily and pushed her hair back. It tumbled down her back, and Madeleine glanced at the wrinkled T-shirt she was wearing.

"Why aren't you at work?" Madeleine asked.

"Why aren't you at school, young lady?" Jenny retorted sharply.

Madeleine raised an eyebrow.

"It's three-thirty," she pointed out.

Jenny blinked.

"Oh," she murmured. "You have softball workouts," she reminded her daughter.

"No," drawled Madeleine. "Not on Fridays."

Jenny frowned. She rubbed her nose and tilted her head to the side.

"Where's my dog?" Madeleine asked.

"Wherever your father put him," Jenny answered. "Basement, backyard," she started, shrugging her shoulders. She shifted her feet, still standing awkwardly close to the bedroom door. Madeleine stared at her.

"Daddy's home, too?" she asked skeptically. She glared. "I'm supposed to have two hours of Madeleine alone time before one of you party crashers shows up," she paused and slowly took a step back. "Mom," Madeleine snapped very seriously. "What are you wearing?"

From the looks of it, Jenny was in _Gibbs'_ wrinkled T-shirt and _Gibbs'_ frayed boxers. She had bare feet and—smudged lipstick. Madeleine cringed.

"What are you guys doing?" she whined.

"Last minute wedding plans," Jenny deadpanned.

Madeleine glared at her.

"Liar," she accused. "Your right eye—"

"_Damn_ him for ever telling you about that," growled Jenny under her breath.

On cue, Gibbs yelled at out.

"Jenny," he growled.

The woman in question turned her head towards the door.

"I'm scaring her away," she hissed back.

Madeleine wrinkled her nose, taking another step back. Jenny sighed heavily.

"My meetings ended early," Jenny began haughtily, "and your father's cases are—well, stagnant and," she winced. "Madeleine Jane, you're sixteen years old. Do I really have to explain to you what we're doing when we think we have the house to ourselves?"

Madeleine mumbled something sarcastically in Hebrew.

"What was that?" snapped Jenny, arching her brows.

Madeleine gave her a pained look.

"Can I borrow the truck?" she asked. She begged silently with her eyes—she definitely did _not_ want to hang around the house right now. Jenny looked relieved and nodded. There was a thud, and scuffling, and Gibbs' head appeared behind Jenny.

"You can't take the truck," he groused at her. "You stripped the gears last time!"

Jenny elbowed him in the ribs.

"Take it," she reaffirmed. "Be careful on the freeway," she added, ever the watchful mother.

Madeleine nodded and darted off, stopping to turn and shake her head at them.

"Bad parents," she accused. "Bad, _bad_ parents—you're getting married tomorrow!"

"Yeah, it'd be a shame if your mom lost her virginity before then," Gibbs joked.

Madeleine groaned in horror and dashed off, not even amused by the sound of Jenny slapping him and slamming a door angrily over his little jest. Completely forgetting about her tradition of playing with Oz when she got home, Madeleine grabbed Dad's keys off the hook and marched onto the front porch, slamming the door. She sat down and pulled out her cell phone, dialing her third speed dial number.

The call picked up almost immediately.

"Ziva," Madeleine said, relieved. "Can I go hang out at your apartment a little early? I caught my parents knockin' boots." She waited for Ziva to answer, and then sighed heavily, rolling her eyes. "What do you mean, you don't know what knockin' boots means? How long have you been a citizen?!"

* * *

><p>Madeleine had already been planning to stay the night at Ziva's, as it was the site of the pseudo-bachelorette party that was going on. It was more of a girl's night in than anything, except Madeleine wasn't entirely sure she wanted to talk to her mom right now.<p>

"It was bound to happen sometime," she muttered to herself, recalling her friends' horror stories of walking in on their parents having sex. Luckily she hadn't opened the door or anything, but couldn't her mom just have pretended they weren't there and stayed hidden?

Madeleine rolled her eyes, curling up on Ziva's comfortable couch with a bowl of hummus and some pita chips. She'd turned on the television to some Israeli soap Ziva had recorded and was listening to the dramatic Hebrew story while she casually jotted down ideas for what she could say at the wedding tomorrow.

It really was going to be a painfully simple affair, with Ducky presiding as the man of God, so to speak, so all the reception would consist of would be food and drinks and a bonfire. Madeleine still wanted to say something. These were the people who had put themselves through the ringer to raise her as safely and securely as it was in their power to do, after all. She owed them a lot, and she loved them very much.

She chomped on a pita chip in a very unladylike way. Ziva's cat pranced across her lap, crumpling the paper in her notebook, and Madeleine glared at it. She hated cats, and she made sure she let some pita crumbs get all over this one. Ziva had a cat because apparently, at a crime scene, a cat had once scared the daylights out of DiNozzo, inducing Ziva to promptly buy a kitten, name it Killer, and invite DiNozzo over to be terrorized by it.

Madeleine snorted at the thought, watching Killer as he slunk away towards his scratching post. He was a living symbol of the never-ending game that Ziva and DiNozzo played, and as far as Madeleine was concerned, Killer was half the reason they still hadn't hooked up. Of course, Madeleine's entire life revolved around scheming to get Ziva and Tony to hook up, so she was considerably biased.

Madeleine swept another pita chip through the hummus and tilted her head back thoughtfully, rummaging around for some words to put into her toast. She hated anything cheesy and cliché, and she knew her parents did, too, so she found herself at a loss. Her mother always said she was as bad at expressing herself as Gibbs was, but considering she'd grown up around a man who considered moving his eyebrows good communication and a woman who expressed herself by getting angry when she was really just scared, Madeleine thought she was doing okay.

Madeleine pulled her pen from behind her hear.

"Once upon a time there lived a strong-willed redheaded princess and a big old burly jerk that was kind of a white knight," Madeleine mumbled to herself, glaring at the cat when he stared at her with judgmental black eyes. She laughed again, swallowing her food. "MJ," she muttered. "That's the plot of _Shrek_."

"Talkin' to yourself? Knew I called you Mad Maddie for a reason."

Madeleine _screamed_. The cat streaked out of the room, startled, and Madeleine whipped around, managing to keep the hummus from spilling but scattering chips all over Ziva's couch. It wasn't even Ziva who had so stealthily snuck in on her—it was freakin' Anthony DiNozzo.

"You-!" Madeleine spluttered, chucking her pen at him violently. She glared at him viciously and he laughed, holding up his hands. He mumbled a half-hearted apology, and she bared her teeth.

"Hey, is Gibbs here?" DiNozzo asked warily. "I saw his truck."

"I took his truck," Madeleine retorted. "He left work early," she said, disgusted.

"Yeah, said he had something to do at home," DiNozzo drawled, bolting Ziva's door and leaving it open. He stretched and walked in like he owned the place. He walked into the kitchen, and Madeleine jumped up, darting after him.

"In case you were wondering, it was Mom," she said loudly, making a face.

"Uh," DiNozzo said, pausing as he pulled popcorn out of the cabinet. He raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"He's defiling my mother," groused Madeleine, sitting on one of the bar stools in Ziva's kitchen.

DiNozzo snickered, ripping open the popcorn with his teeth and grinning wryly at Madeleine.

"Pretty sure he's already defiled her," he joked.

"You're not funny, Pony," said Madeleine with a glare. She leaned back and stuck her tongue out at him for good measure. He shrugged, looking gleeful, and opened the microwave. He glanced at the clock on the stove.

"That's why you're here early," he muttered.

Madeleine cocked her head.

"Girl's night," clarified DiNozzo. "Ziva said it didn't start until eight."

"I couldn't stay in my house after that discovery," Madeleine protested, outraged. "Why, did Ziva not tell you I was here? Why are you here, anyway?" Madeleine asked suspiciously. "This isn't your apartment. You can't just help yourself to Ziva's popcorn," she reprimanded.

"Ziva is picking up snacks for you ladies," DiNozzo drawled gallantly.

Madeleine stared at him and raised an eyebrow.

"That doesn't explain why you're here," she pointed out. She tilted her head at him, giving him a pointed look. He looked away, eyes intently on the microwave. She continued to glare at him intently until he scowled.

"Stop it, Maddie, you look like Gibbs."

"Make me."

"I am your godfather, I order you to stop the Gibbs glare."

"Tell me why you waltzed into Ziva's apartment," retorted Madeleine, "and are now bummed to find me here."

"Hey, I'm not bummed."

"You're bummed," she said smugly.

DiNozzo frowned. The popcorn buzzed, and he pulled it out. He shrugged casually.

"I, uh, need to borrow some of her, uh, Mossad stuff for Gibbs' stag party."

"Worst excuse ever," fired back Madeleine. "What Mossad things would you need at a stag party?"

Tony glared at her.

"Mind your own business."

Madeleine studied him for a minute, and he reached over and snatched her notebook from her, scanning over it while he munched on popcorn. He narrowed his eyes, reading some of the notes and squinting at the scratched out lines. He swallowed and handed it back to her, tapping on it.

"Gibbs is gonna hate anything you say," he taunted.

"Daddy likes everything I say," Madeleine returned primly.

"He didn't like that time you said he was a stupid mean grouch who never loved you," DiNozzo pointed out wryly.

Madeleine blushed.

"Well, I was ten when I said that, and for the record—Mom's never spanked me harder in my life," she informed him.

DiNozzo shrugged.

"That one kind of hurt all of us, Mads. Gibbs loves you more than Bogart loved Bacall."

"Ew, don't compare me and Daddy's relationship to a married couple!"

"Fine—Rhett loved Bonnie?"

"Mmm," Madeleine agreed, grinning. "Perfect. Fitting," she added, smiling a little softer. "Since Kelly died."

DiNozzo nodded, offering her some popcorn. The cat hopped up on the counter and yowled at him, and Madeleine laughed when he jumped back. Ziva walked into her apartment, a confused look on her face, and then narrowed her eyes when she saw Tony.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she growled. "You drive me up the hall, DiNozzo—"

"Wall," Madeleine and Tony corrected.

"I do not care," snapped Ziva. She dropped her grocery bags on the counter and glared at DiNozzo. "How many times must I remind you that you do not live here?"

"One more."

She punched his shoulder, and he snickered, leaping back. She tore the popcorn away from him, advancing menacingly.

"You are eating my snacks again. If you leave the bag on the floor again and Killer gets sick chewing it up—"

"You didn't notice either," DiNozzo pointed out, glaring at her. "You knocked it on the floor anyway, you little Israeli fiend."

"What were you guys doing when this happened?" Madeleine asked sweetly. "Date night? Heartfelt talk by the hearth?" she tried wickedly, arching her eyebrow.

That effectively snapped them out of it. They glared at her, and she winked flirtatiously.

"You two want me to leave so you can make-out?"

"Will you never give up?" Ziva asked.

"No."

DiNozzo pointed rudely in Ziva's face.

"I can't stand her," he declared dramatically.

"Right," Madeleine said sarcastically. She pursed her lips. "And the Tiva Denial Scale hits seven million points."

"Do not call us Tiva. We are not one of your television shows," Ziva growled.

"You're right," sighed Madeleine, scoffing. "You're more frustrating and _way_ more blind to the obvious."

She took her notebook and hopped off the chair.

"Ziva, help me with this before Mom and Abby get here. Go home, Pony. Mentally prepare yourself to spring whatever stag party idea you've got on Daddy, because he's going to murder you no matter what it is…"

* * *

><p>Abby was the last to arrive, and she arrived at ten. She wasn't typically tardy—<p>

"Sorry I'm late!" she apologized breathlessly, closing Ziva's door securely. "Sebastian got lost in the supermarket again."

"Lost?"

"Again?"

Madeleine and Ziva spoke at the same time, and both raised their eyebrows. Abby dropped her duffle bag and fanned herself, nodding brightly.

"How did you lose your child in the market?" Ziva asked in wonder.

"Again?" repeated Madeleine skeptically.

Abby flounced over and collapsed, patting her pigtails thoughtfully.

"Tim and I wanted to stop in real quick and get them some snacks. Sarah's going to take them to the movies, and we didn't want her to have to buy their treats," Abby stopped to take a breath. "So I asked Ned to hold Sebastian's hand—because he was screaming in the cart's little kiddie seat—and next thing I know, Cats took off down an aisle just for kicks and Tim darts after her, and while I'm looking after them for a split second, Ned and Sebastian ran off."

Madeleine burst out laughing. Ned and Cats were Abby's five-year-old twins. Their given names were Caitlin Sciuto McGee and Thomas Eddard McGee, after Kate Todd and McGee's alias, Thom E. Gemcity, respectively, but McGee had nicknamed the boy Ned and it had stuck. Cats got her nickname from Ned being unable to say Caitlin, and the fact that the only word she would say for five months was 'Cats'. Sebastian was the three-year-old, named so because Abby and Tim had decided to let the twins name him, and their favorite movie at the time had been _The Little Mermaid_.

"You lost Ned _and_ Sebastian?" Ziva asked, eyes wide.

"No, Ned skipped right back over to me seconds later and informed he lost his brother."

"Oh my god, Ned's my favorite," Madeleine giggled. "He's always trying to lose Sebastian."

"I know," Abby said, crinkling her nose. "He tried to get me to leave him at the playground last week. At least Cats likes Sebastian, that's one out of two."

Ziva snorted.

"Where's the bride to be?" Abby asked, glancing around happily.

"Oh, making drinks," Madeleine said breezily. She stood up. "I've got to get the cookies out of the oven," she added. "Abby, you pick a chick flick. We all picked one."

"What's on the table?"

Madeleine heard Ziva telling Abby what had already been chosen as she waltzed into the kitchen. She checked on the cookies in the oven—they still had five more minutes—and leaned on the counter while she watched Jenny craft some truly beautiful margaritas. Stealthily, Madeleine reached out to snatch one, and Jenny slapped her hand.

"Don't push your luck," Jenny said dryly. "I already agreed to let you have wine at the wedding tomorrow."

"Only because Dad said he'd spike my punch with whiskey if you didn't," retorted Madeleine smugly.

Jenny laughed and arched an eyebrow.

"I thought you had your fill of whiskey when he let you have that shot at your bat mitzvah."

Madeleine shuddered at the memory. She could _not_ figure out what her parents liked about that nasty bourbon stuff. Jenny went back to salting the margarita rims with her patented mix of salt and lemon-flavored sugar crystals, and Madeleine titled her head, watching Jenny.

"Why'd you pick _The Way We Were_?" she asked casually.

Jenny shrugged.

"I like that movie."

Madeleine rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, but this is a bachelorette thing. You're supposed to pick _Legally Blonde_ or _Bridesmaids_. Definitely _Bridesmaids_."

"I told you you were not allowed to see that movie," seethed Jenny, glaring at Madeleine. "I think the one time Diane Fornell and I agreed on something was when we both ripped Emily a new one for buying you a ticket."

Madeleine smiled sweetly. She arched her brows.

"Ima, seriously. You picked a tearjerker on your wedding eve."

Jenny sighed, straightening up and looking at her daughter for a moment.

"I like the ending of _The Way We Were_," she said tensely.

"No one _likes_ the ending of it!" gasped Madeleine. "Hubbell leaves her! He _leaves_!"

Jenny nodded, lifting her hand. She placed it on her hip.

"Yes. He does. He chose not to be the better man. She put him through a lot, Madeleine, but she also did her best to work with him." Jenny paused. Madeleine waited, sensing she was trying to decide if she wanted to go on. Jenny narrowed her eyes. "Hubbell fell in love with an ambitious woman."

Madeleine bit her lip to keep a wide smile back. She blinked slowly. Ziva and Abby were laughing in the living room, and Ziva's cat prowled suddenly around Madeleine's feet, weaving in and out.

"I used to watch that movie all the time because I always thought my life would end up like that," Jenny said finally. "After I had you, I kept waiting for your father to decide he'd had enough."

Madeleine snorted.

"Aba isn't Hubbell."

Jenny nodded pointedly.

"He isn't. That move reminds me of what I have to be grateful for. I put Jethro through a lot."

Madeleine's face was soft. She knew well enough that many of the tense situations over the years had originated at her mother's hand, but she didn't really know the details of the story that had brought her parents back together after she was born. She knew they had met when they were partners in Paris and had been broken up when she was an infant, but all she could ever remember was them being together in spirit if not physically in the same country. She only had vague memories of living in Israel, with her earliest being when Daddy came for Easter and Tali died, and she knew in a bleary way that they had fought behind closed doors often when she was little.

More recently, she knew Jenny's job as Director of NCIS had provoked a lot of animosity, but her part time job at the NSA had been golden, and even now in her full-time position as an advisor they didn't clash too often.

"Mom," Madeleine said carefully. "I know we—look, I know you sort of set Daddy up with the bet because Mrs. Clinton advised you to get married but," Madeleine paused. "You do want to marry him, right?"

"Yes," Jenny answered firmly. "Of course I do. I've been with him for sixteen years, ahuva. I want to be with him sixteen more; why else do you think I'm sticking around?"

"Me?"

Jenny laughed.

"No," she soothed gently. "You brought us back together, but if we were together just because of you, our lives would be miserable. No, Madeleine," Jenny sighed. "I love your father. The worst summer of my life was when he was in Mexico." She hesitated. "I almost left him then. He scared me. He's loved another woman, honey. He's had another family but I," Jenny broke off momentarily. "I've never loved another man."

"I never knew you were so scared," Madeleine said quietly.

"I wasn't going to dump my insecurities on an eight-year-old," Jenny said, matter-of-fact. "Besides, he's your dad, and I shouldn't even be telling you all this. You're too young."

"I'm sixteen!"

"You're too young," repeated Jenny firmly. "I do want you to know that if Hillary told me I didn't have to get married, I'd still marry him. I was—tired of holding out," she admitted, stepping back to look at her ring.

Madeleine stepped closer and took her hand, admiring the diamonds.

"Ima," she said softly, murmuring in Hebrew. "I've never seen Dad look at another woman. Tim's a darling but his eyes still wander sometimes. Daddy," Madeleine shrugged lightly. "He never even looks."

Jenny turned her head and kissed Madeleine's forehead. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the comfort of her daughter for a moment, and then pulled away and picked up the tray of drinks, clearing her throat, blinking her eyes, and smiling wryly.

"Yes, well I happen to keep him very satisfied."

Madeleine glared at her and leapt back, just as the cookie timer went off.

"_Ew_, get away from me, you shrew," she groaned, waving her hands. She stomped to the stove and mumbled to herself, while she heard the other women harass Jenny about taking too long with the drinks.

Sixteen was a great age until her parents started thinking it was acceptable to acknowledge that they _slept_ together.

* * *

><p>Madeleine dashed up the stairs of the townhouse, gracefully avoiding Noemi and barreling into her bedroom. She made a face at the mess and looked around, shrieking in excitement when she found the petite little pearl tiara that Cats had been crying for all morning.<p>

She grabbed it and dashed back down the stairs into the kitchen.

"I need a hairspray touchup!" she said desperately, presenting the tiara to Cats.

The adorable little dark-haired girl stopped crying immediately and put it on her little pig-tailed head, a grin a mile wide appearing on her face. Abby rolled her eyes in relief and went back to fixing Ned's bowtie.

"How come Bas doesn't have to wear a tie?" pouted Ned.

"Stop calling him Bas," Abby reprimanded. "If you wanted to name him something fishy, you should have gone with Flounder. Se-bas-ti-an," she pronounced clearly.

"Bas," Cats said stubbornly, throwing a handful of flowers into the air.

Abby rolled her eyes good-naturedly. Her children were rambunctious and vivacious, and though they were generally polite, they also tended to run wild of their own accord. Ziva helped Madeleine touchup her hair and smiled, complimenting it in quiet Hebrew. Madeleine grinned and left the kitchen, slipping into the study where her mother was.

"Do I look alright?" Jenny asked distractedly, as Madeleine shut the door. Madeleine leaned against the heavy oak study door and nodded encouragingly. There was a full-length mirror propped up against a bookshelf, and Jenny touched her hair again.

"Here," Madeleine came forward and held out her fist, clutching three necessities in her palm. She adjusted the flowers in her hand, and Jenny opened her hand to receive the items.

"Something borrowed," Madeleine said, pointing out the delicate pearl earrings with green and pink flowers painted onto them. Ziva had given them to her for her bat mitzvah, a gift from a seaside town in Italy. "Something new," she indicated the shade of lipstick she'd picked out. "Something blue." Jenny's garter was a pale lacy blue.

Madeleine bit her lip.

"Something old, I wasn't sure—"

"Taken care of," Jenny said.

Madeleine looked over her.

"What is it?" she asked, curious.

Jenny blushed suddenly. Madeleine glared at her suspiciously.

"If it's your panties—"

"I've had them since Paris."

Madeleine cringed.

"I'm moving back to Israel," she threatened, something she liked to say to joke around with her parents.

Jenny smirked and held out her hands; Madeleine handed her the white and yellow flowers she'd chosen to go with her pale green dress. They were eschewing all kinds of tradition, what with her green dress and pink shoes, and Madeleine's pink dress and green shoes. There wasn't even a wedding party. Madeleine was standing up with Jenny, and DiNozzo was standing up with Gibbs, but other than that—and Abby's kids being allowed to throw petals everywhere—it was small and tame.

Madeleine shared the mirror and touched up her lipstick, tucking the tube back between her breasts as Jenny had always taught her to do. She'd chosen the Peridot earrings and ring she'd gotten from Daddy for her bat mitzvah to go with the dress, and her Star of David necklace was present as always. She and Jenny had their hair done the same way.

"You look stunning, Mom," Madeleine whispered.

Jenny took a deep breath and looked over Madeleine, biting her lip.

"Madeleine," she breathed. "Oh, your father's going to hate this," she murmured. Their daughter looked nothing like a little girl and every bit like a woman. They were lucky she was far less concerned with her looks and with boys than she was with softball, Judaism, and scheming to get Tony and Ziva together.

Madeleine giggled and smoothed out her skirt.

"This is much more tasteful than what you let me wear to the Springsteen concert," she pointed out.

Jenny conceded that point with a nod and put her hands on Madeleine's shoulders. She smiled at her and then turned to the old desk in the study and poured a drink.

"Mom!" Madeleine cried with a laugh.

"You don't understand how nerve-wracking this is," Jenny muttered, shooting back a double shot of bourbon. She waited a moment and poured another. "I swore I'd never marry him."

"You're an oath breaker and a drunk and only God can save you now," Madeleine said primly. She pranced forward and kissed Jenny's cheek, squeezing her hand excitedly. "I'm going to stand up with Daddy."

"Madeleine," Jenny said, as she was leaving. Madeleine turned around. "He wanted to write our own vows. You know how he is with words. What if he—what if he doesn't take it seriously?"

Madeleine smiled.

"The vows are just semantics, Mom," she said smartly. "It's the feelings that matter."

* * *

><p>Madeleine triumphantly convinced DiNozzo to go stand on Jenny's side so she could stand next to her father. Ducky was going to walk Jenny up any moment, and DiNozzo caved so he wouldn't be caught scowling in the middle of the makeshift aisle. The backyard of the townhouse was cozy, and since there was room set up to light a fire later, the sparse guests were in neat white folding chairs. Food was already out and ready, and all they needed was a wedding.<p>

Gibbs smiled at Madeleine as she sidled up next to him.

"Your girl is lovely, Daddy," Madeleine whispered to him wryly. He gave her a funny look, and she just shook her head.

"She okay?" he asked gruffly.

"She might be drunk," Madeleine warned. Gibbs laughed. He reached out and wrapped his arm around his sixteen-year-old daughter's shoulders, hugging her to his side. She was starting to look so much like Jenny that it worried him, but her face was all her own, as well. He wondered if she still resembled Kelly, but he had nothing to compare it to. He'd stopped thinking she looked like Kelly when she'd safely and healthily turned nine years old.

"What are you going to say to her?" Madeleine asked quietly.

Gibbs didn't answer and though she poked his ribs through his suit and tried to make him talk, he refused her. She was fervently curious; she never really heard her parents make declarations of emotional love to each other. The most heartfelt thing she'd ever heard was when she'd eavesdropped on them in Mexico. They'd been out on the beach, and she'd snuck around Mike Frank's porch to watch.

"_Come home, Jethro," she'd said shakily. "I shouldn't have forced you away from Madeleine, but she's so young and she was scared and it hurt her when you called her Kelly. I miss you. I need you to come home. I love you."_

_He'd taken her face in his hands._

"_I know who you are, Jen. I never wanted you to be Shannon." _

She would have stayed for more, but Mike Franks had found her and nearly skinned her alive for eavesdropping.

Dad let go of her abruptly, and she realized Jenny was standing in front of them. She'd been too lost in her reverie, with her head on Dad's shoulder, to realize Ducky was taking them up the aisle. Jenny tossed her bouquet to DiNozzo and he frowned; Madeleine giggled and blew him a mocking kiss.

Halfway through Ducky's ceremony, Cats scrambled out of Abby's lap and came to sit at Madeleine's feet—followed quickly by Ned and Sebastian. Abby and Tim hissed at them to come back, but Madeleine blithely allowed them to sit with her. She looked out over the crowd—the people who mattered were here.

Her friend Delia, who had grown up with her. Jimmy Palmer and his wife, Breena, Director Vance and his family, Ziva, the McGees, the Fornells-Diane with skeptically raised eyebrows and pursed lips, Maddie Tyler. Madeleine smiled even wider as she took in the people who were all really her family. She even caught Ziva flicking a rubber band at DiNozzo's ears.

"I believe the bride and groom have elected to say their own vows," Ducky said politely, stepping back.

For a moment, Madeleine didn't know who was going to start. Jenny bit her lip, and then laughed, tilting her head back slightly. Gibbs reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. There was old, swirling feminine writing all over it, and when Jenny took it, Madeleine saw a gut-wrenching sort of shock in her eyes. She just held it for a moment, looking at the heavily creased paper and the faded, yellowed writing.

Then she opened it, her hands shaking slightly, and Madeleine saw that the inside was covered in new, dark ink—in Gibbs' handwriting. Madeleine couldn't read what her father had written, but she squinted and leaned forward, trying to catch a glimpse of the old stuff.

The only words she saw were _Paris_ and _coward_ before her dad gently pulled her back and gave her a look telling her not to read it.

Jenny seemed to read the letter over and over, and then she lowered it and just stared at him.

"You kept it," she said hoarsely. "You _kept_ it. This horrible thing I did to you and you—turned it into," she faltered, trying to find words. "It's like you built your vows on everything we got through," she broke off again.

Gibbs just looked at her, and Madeleine, vaguely unaware of what the damn piece of paper meant, just watched, enthralled. Tears sprang to her mother's eyes.

"You bastard," she said huskily. DiNozzo looked outraged, but Gibbs just snorted smugly. She held the letter he'd written closer to her chest, and bit her lip shakily. "You aren't supposed to be good at this. I—I don't know what to say."

He shrugged.

"Don't have to say anything, Jen," he said firmly.

"I do," she said firmly, giving him a hard look. Gibbs looked over at Ducky and arched his brow, and Ducky looked taken aback.

"Ah, Jennifer, you haven't really said—vows."

"He wrote me his vows on the back of my Dear John letter," Jenny choked out. "I can't—I can't, Duck," she gasped. "Just marry us. The vows," she shot Madeleine a look. "They're just semantics."

Gibbs glared at her. She smiled, and a few tears fell from her eyes. She held the paper up to hide her face, then shrugged her shoulders and stepped closer, taking Gibbs' lapels in her hands. The letter crumpled some in her grasp, pressing into his suit. She stood there, very close to him, while Ducky said the final words. Madeleine held her breath as she watched.

"You may now kiss the bride," Ducky said, beaming.

Madeleine couldn't help it; when her mom tried to get a way with a demure little kiss and her dad dipped her backwards dramatically, she let out a squeal and jumped up and down, her eyes stinging. DiNozzo cleared his throat pointedly after good minute, and Gibbs stood back up. Jenny hugged him tightly, pressing her head into his chest.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Mr. and Mrs. Leroy Jethro Gibbs," Ducky announced proudly.

Jenny turned around politely.

"Oh, it's still Shepard—"

"What the hell do you mean it's still Shepard?" Gibbs asked loudly.

Madeleine picked up Sebastian McGee and hugged him, laughing brightly. Twenty seconds into married life, and nothing had changed.

* * *

><p>The night was balmy and perfect, and the bonfire added the best touch to the atmosphere. Music was on, the cake had been cut, and food had been devoured and re-devoured. Abby's youngest was asleep in his father's lap, while her twins were eagerly roasting marshmallows with Abby's help.<p>

Eleven-year-old Henry Fornell was following Delia around, probably at the behest of Emily, trying to get her to kiss him. Breena and Jimmy were canoodling by the fire, and DiNozzo had disappeared to fetch the wine.

Emily sat down next to Madeleine and handed her a plate of half-eaten cake.

"I couldn't finish my second piece."

"Mmm," Madeleine heartily accepted.

Emily nodded over at Jenny and Gibbs.

"So, did you find out what the letter shenanigans were about?" she asked.

"Ah," Madeleine said, stabbing the cake with a fork. "Yes. Ducky told me. It seems that when they broke up in Paris, it wasn't a mutual thing. My mom left a note on Daddy's pillow and bailed on him."

Emily whistled.

"Ouch," she drawled. "Aw, that's cute, though. What he did? Smooth Agent Gibbs, smooth. I've never seen Jenny cry like that."

"I have," Madeleine said vaguely.

Delia took a seat on Madeleine's other side, scowling.

"You shake off my brother?" Emily asked wryly.

"I set him on Agent David," Delia said. "When do you go back to Dartmouth, Em?"

"Two weeks," Emily said breezily. She smiled politely at Delia and glanced back at Madeleine. "I can't _believe_ they got married. Dad swore she'd never do it," Emily remarked.

"I think MJ can thank Hillary Clinton for that one," Delia said with a laugh. "She wants Jenny as Secretary of State if she wins the election, but the Republican congress will bitch and moan incessantly if she's not married."

Emily shrugged and nodded. She tapped her nails on her knee, playing with the edge of her dress.

"Your parents are crazy, MJ," she said, shaking her head.

"I know," Madeleine said with a laugh. She grinned, licking icing off her fork. Emily snapped her fingers.

"Remember that time Jenny found out Gibbs was forging her signature on NCIS files and refused to speak in anything but French for a week?"

Delia laughed.

"Yeah, but that was so not as good as the time Jenny showed up to pick MJ and I up from softball practice with this massive hickey on her neck and claimed she burned herself with a curling iron."

"She did," Madeleine said seriously.

Delia and Emily laughed at her.

"You're an idiot, Mads."

Madeleine glared at Delia, but Emily patted her head patronizingly.

"It's okay Miss Never-Been-Kissed," she soothed. She grinned. "I just always loved being at your house because Jenny and Gibbs were so funny. They fought like, all the time, but it was always cute fighting. So _cute_."

Madeleine rolled her eyes.

Emily was right; her parents bickered. It was sport for them; it was how they flirted. It was fascinating and hysterical to watch. Madeleine had come to love it over the years. They only thing they had never bickered over was how to discipline her. On that, they were an unfairly united front. They always agreed on what her rules were from curfew to when she could date—seventeen—and they made it a point to always be there when she was at a game or a recital. She'd abandoned figure skating for full time softball when she was twelve, and they had supported that completely.

Madeleine spied Tony coming back with the wine, and she got up and darted over, helping him to open the bottles and pour glasses. She had them handed out and was climbing up on a table before people could realize what was going on. She swept off her heel and tapped it against the glass, waiting for silence.

"Madeleine," hissed Jenny, annoyed. "Get off that table, I can see up your dress."

Madeleine rolled her eyes, well aware her mother was exaggerating. She retorted with a pointed glance at Jenny's leg, which was in Gibbs' lap. He was toying with the blue garter, and that was Madeleine's confirmation that her mother was definitely drunk.

"I have things to say," Madeleine said primly, looking around. "Sixteen years ago, a wonderful even occurred. I was born," she announced, taking a mock bow. Abby and DiNozzo snickered. "I lived with my mother in Israel until I was three years old, and my dad did everything he could to be in my life." Madeleine touched her necklace. "I moved here with Daddy when I was three and a half, and it was Mom's turn to struggle with seeing me. These two made sure that I grew up knowing both of my parents would do anything in the world for me, including fly across it. I listened to Dad propose to Mom constantly for most of my life. It was the wittiest game I'd ever seen—neither side wanted to take a hit to the pride and cave." Madeleine smirked wryly and raised her brows.

"Here we've got Dad thinking he won, because he bet Mom she couldn't go a week without saying one damn vocabulary word, and she said it within twenty seconds. But we've also got Mom thinking she won, because she lost on purpose so Dad would marry her before she's nominated as the next Secretary of State." Madeleine grinned. "So whose pride is wounded?" she asked, and tossed her hair confidently. "Aba, Ima—you've both been played."

Jenny raised her eyebrows, and Gibbs glared. Madeleine raised her glass to them gallantly.

"Mrs. Clinton asked me what I wanted for my birthday when I turned fifteen. I asked her to tell Mom she needed to get married. Then I told Dad Mrs. Clinton was going to tell Mom to get married," Madeleine paused, and her smirk was a perfect replica of her father's. "I turned sixteen three weeks ago, and my parents got married today, after countless years of facing obstacles men and women who love each other should never have to face. Aba, I know that diamond you gave her doesn't change the fact that she's a political mastermind who steals your hand tools when you misbehave at NCIS. Ima, I know in spite of his vows, he's still an infuriating bastard but as far as bastards go," Madeleine hopped off the table and pointed straight at her father. "_He's_ the only one this family's got now."

She took a drink, and the guests followed her, giving her a round of applause. A moment later, she had a bouquet and a garter flicked at her, and after swatting them away, she saw the smirking, proud faces of her parents staring back at her. She walked up to them, holding her wine glass in her hand.

"I love you guys," she said brightly, kissing her mother's cheek and then bending down to hug her father. He held her tightly, running his hand over the back of her head like he used to do when she was very little. She leaned back and smiled at him, and looked over at Jenny and tilted her head. "When you come back from Paris this time," she started, biting her lip thinking of their honeymoon destination. "Don't leave Daddy."

Jenny leaned over into Gibbs and let him put his arm around her.

"I won't," she said smugly.

Madeleine stepped away from them, picking up the bouquet and the garter. She decided the garter hadn't been too far up on Mom's leg and slung it around her wrist. The bouquet, she chucked violently at Ziva, who caught it with excellent skill and happened to accidentally look right at Tony.

Madeleine cackled. She swung the garter around her wrist and clutched the Star of David necklace at her throat. Ziva, after throwing the flowers into DiNozzo's face, prowled up next to Madeleine and examined the garter herself, arching an eyebrow.

"This was around your mother's thigh," she pointed out.

Madeleine nodded.

"Gibbs was stroking it. I witnessed this," Ziva goaded slyly.

_"He's_ the one who flicked it at my face," Madeleine retorted, shooting a glare at her father. She made a face. Her parents were definitely making out over in their little corner. Ziva smiled and tilted her head, studying Madeleine quietly.

"Madeleine," she asked. "Did you ever feel as if your life was dysfunctional?"

Madeleine looked over at Ziva. She and the Israeli were immeasurably close, almost like sisters despite the age gap between them. Ziva had found a home in their family, a stability that she had never had in Israel. She wondered if Madeleine felt the same, or if it was different for the little girl who had been separated from one parent or the other for so long. What Ziva saw as stability, may have been dysfunction to Madeleine.

Madeleine pursed her lips. She looked around her, looked at her parents, and smiled.

"No," she said honestly. She shrugged, biting her lip, and met Ziva's eyes. "I was always _loved_."

* * *

><p><em>Mishpokhe: hebrew for family<em>.

* * *

><p><em>-Alexandra<em>


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